


Mirror Shards Everywhere

by RedOutCold (orphan_account)



Series: Mirror Shards Everywhere [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Denial, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Secrets, Sexual Content, Violence, lying, one-sided affection, unrequited romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/RedOutCold
Summary: Damian has considered it countless times, gone through countless scenarios, mentally prepped himself to the T for the grand moment. However, all the preparation in the world meant nothing compared to the sting of rejection.In the midst of humiliation and hurt, Damian stumbles across an alternative reality with alternative possibilities, and one of those possibilities might be Dick Grayson.(Loosely based off of the concept of Coraline)





	1. The Sting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lacemonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemonster/gifts).



> I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time, but it’s been a progress of going back and forth and changing ideas. The concept and elements of Coraline’s parallel reality integrated with an AU is something I was struggling to balance with this fanfic. I hope I did an okay job. 
> 
> P.S  
> If you haven’t watched Coraline, I’d highly recommend it. It’s a great film. 
> 
> Another P.S  
> This is dedicated to Lacemonster who has written some amazing stories and has inspired me to churn out some fics for fun. I recommend looking at her works, you’ll get hooked easily. 
> 
> More P.S’s (sorry)  
> Alright. This story ended up with an underage warning, even though I originally wasn’t planning on it, but for the purpose of the plot that’s how I’m going to roll. So, You’ve been warned. The character Damian is likely to be somewhere of high school age, at least young enough to be under Bruce’s guidance for the plot. So there’s that. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Damian could feel the onslaught of shame slithering into his stance as his face grew hot.

The silence was simply brutal, he could hear his pulse desperately thrumming in his ears as his heart frantically danced in his chest. His hands trembled at his sides and he clenched them into tight fists, not caring at all for the blunt nails digging painfully into his sweaty palms.

  
The bewilderment and horror etched in Dick’s face was all the cues Damian needed to realize that this entire instance was a misguided mistake. And unfortunately for him, it was a mistake he couldn’t backpedal.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was evident that with each passing second he grew more panicked, utterly clueless in this scenario.

It didn’t matter though, the tension was too much for Damian to bear anyway. He promptly turned around to stalk off and abandon the whole situation entirely, hoping by tomorrow he could pretend that this wrenching moment never happened.

  
He got in some distance before he felt a strong hand come down on his shoulder. Damian glanced up to see Dick’s sympathetic face. He wasn’t misled by the compassionate expression, Damian could still sense remnants of dismay.

“I…,” Dick trailed off. Damian shrugged away his hand and continued his trek back to his bedroom.

Dick sighed, “Look, Damian, we—I...god. Let’s talk about this. We can talk about this.”

Hearing the uncertainty, shock and... _disturbance_ in Dick’s tone further perpetuated Damian’s self doubt and mere embarrassment. He really should’ve thought this through.

What made it worse was Dick’s tenacity to understand, or at least attempt to understand. The man was _trying_ , anyone with half a brain cell could see the gears going to work in his mind. He was trying to find rationality in a position beyond his wildest dreams. It served to make Damian feel like shit.

“Forget about it,” Damian murmured. “This was all stupid. Forget I told you.”

Dick shook his head. “No, it’s not. This...is something. Something that needs to be addressed. And I don’t want you to think I’m upset with you or anything, okay?”

Damian considered ignoring Dick and just leaving. This whole thing was turning more sour by the minute, worse than he had imagined. It was all his dumb fault.

“To be clear,” Dick started carefully. “I love you...too. I do. You mean a lot to me, more than you’ll ever know. It’s just...um, look, I care about you a lot and you’re truly amazing, but... _Jesus_ , Damian. Not like that, never like that. I’m sorry.”

Damian clenched his teeth. "Fine. Let’s just drop it then.”

It was clear from Dick’s pause that he wanted to say more. To make Damian feel better, to try to ease the overall awkwardness and tension completely mounted in this moment. But it was just one of these situations where even Dick Grayson himself was at lost of words.

The sting of rejection was something Damian knew was a possibility. He had considered it countless times before he took to confessing to Dick more seriously. He mentally prepped himself, reminded himself that rejection wasn't the end–all while simultaneously hoping that Dick would see past their inherent differences and reciprocate his feelings.

It seemed like all the preparation in the world meant nothing.

The moment Dick showed an inkling of distaste, Damian felt his world crumble like a withered building. Dick was more than dumbfounded by Damian's very open and almost _emotional_ confession of devotion and affection. But with haste and panic, Dick squashed it.

  
The corridor of the manor was filled with silence. Dick was without a hint of how to broach the blaring issue any further, and Damian refused to engage anymore, he had humiliated himself enough.

Damian continued his miserable trudge to his room without another word to Dick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
The fight for sleep was a losing battle, any moment Damian's body melted into that familiar lull, the accounts of what had happened would reach out and clutch the forefront of his mind, pulling him back into spiteful wakefulness.

He rolled over for the umpteenth time in a row, jostling a heavy Titus snoring on his leg. The Great Dane yawned and stretched, but fell back into a tranquil slumber, leaving Damian alone with his thoughts.

What the hell did he _expect_ to happen?

What possessed him to believe any good would come out of what just happened? Like all his hopes weren’t bound to go down the drain? Like there was any chance in hell that Dick would feel the same way.

It was completely foolish. No, it was downright stupid on Damian’s behalf.

Years, _years_ , Damian had yearned after Dick. From his early days as Robin shortly after Bruce’s “death”, Damian had developed a bit of a crush on the older man. Back then, Dick proved to be a patient mentor, taking in stride Damian’s mood swings and temper tantrums. And despite his harsh complaints, Dick was naturally attentive and nurturing, even when they were both at their worst.

For all intents and purposes, Dick was genuinely a good man. He cared when he didn’t have to, he listened when most would throw in the towel, and he felt compelled to give multiple chances to those who probably don’t deserve it, those being someone as infuriating as Damian. Damian was self–aware enough to realize that he wasn’t the most... _pleasant_ of individuals. He begrudgingly admits to being pampered to the point of some entitlement, yes. And being uprooted from such a grandiose upbringing was an _adjustment_ for him. Not too many were as patient or...as kind as Dick, with the exception of Alfred. It was one of many reasons Damian grew to adore him.

Dick also instilled confidence and trust in him, something that Damian has yet to find in his own father.

This crush manifested itself over the years as he matured and grew closer to the older man. He only started to truly define his feelings when his admiration translated into desire. When the nights became tense and restless and his hand just wasn’t enough to satiate him, his hazy mind would dance along lewd thoughts of a certain former mentor touching him, tasting him, biting him. Those thoughts would spring to life until he tumbled over the edge, making a mess in his pajamas.

It was all foreign to him. But after eavesdropping on the vulgar conversations shared between Jason and Stephanie, it seemed like his conclusion wasn’t all that far–fetched.

But...Dick’s reaction.

Damian suddenly slapped his forehead, embarrassed. The action alerted Titus, tall black ears a high silhouetted against the faint light of the fireplace.

  
He really should’ve thought it through. Should’ve considered it from Dick’s _own_ perspective. Damian had been biased, had been so anxious to just open up to the older man, hoping to win Dick with his genuineness and naked affection.

Damian sighed and gave up on sleep. He sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, rocking lightly as disparaging thoughts raced across his mind.

How could he have been so stupid to honestly believe Dick would reciprocate? That Dick would actually overlook Damian's age and his relation to Bruce? That Dick would even view him that way?

  
Damian squeezed his eyes shut and fell back into the lush fabric of his comforter. Titus, fed up with his master’s incessant moving, clambered off the futon to curl up by the fireplace.

Damian, for all his self–assurance, was at a complete lost at what to do now that everything was said and done. He didn’t know what the next move was, or if there should even be a next move. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring considering Dick’s growing presence in Gotham as Nightwing. He couldn’t even fathom waking up and sharing breakfast with him.

Damian threw the covers over his head almost defiantly. He curled in on himself and fought against the growing anxiety. He would cross that bridge when he got there.

For now, he’ll just worry about getting some damn sleep.

 


	2. Reflection

Robin flicked the blood off his knuckles.

The floorboards creaked lightly. He whirled around and brought a swift blow to the goon’s face. He felt bones crack under the force of his fist, heard the gnarly crunch of the man’s nasal cavity collapsing. The goon immediately passed out, planting face first onto the floor.

Robin peered around the grimy corridor. Eight unconscious men scattered the floor.  He listened and examined every little detail that decorated the hall, from the splattered specs of blood kissing the walls to the dust sailing past his face. He didn’t sense any more enemies on the floor, but he did miss a rather baffled Red Robin and Red Hood standing by the rickety staircase behind him.

Red Hood casually walked toward him, letting out a low whistle at the gruesome scene. Red Robin didn’t budge, still mystified by the flurry of violence he just witnessed.

“Damn kid,” Red Hood drawled. “Who pissed in your cereal?”

Robin glowered at the glinting red helmet. He was not in the mood.

“Why the hell are you even here right now? We don’t _need_ your help,” Robin said scathingly.

Red Hood snorted, “ _Clearly_. Damn near  killed that guy with the way you were dishing out punches. You just might end up filling out this Red Hood cowl better than me when you’re older.”

“Tt. I’m not wearing that _ugly_ helmet.”

“Well, it comes with the territory. Or would you prefer your old assassin uniform? I’m sure it’s more fitting for someone with an M.O as deadly as yours.”

“Piss off,” Robin said. His composure was wearing thin and his ire was running high. Tonight was not his night.

It’s been a couple of days since his disastrous confession to Dick. He had done everything in his power to vehemently avoid Dick whenever he decided to invite himself to the manor or the batcave. It was cowardly on Damian’s behalf, but he couldn’t bring himself to face Dick while still so fresh from a bruised ego.

Things had only gotten worse from there, though. Dick had made a very recent visit to Bruce in the batcave. Purely by coincidence, Damian had been present to alert his father that he had broken the training equipment in a moment of pure aggression, _again._

Next to Dick was a slender brunette. By the ridiculous magician attire and the stupid top hat, Damian immediately identified her as Zatanna Zatara. Damian recalled briefly that she had recently teamed up with the Teen Titans in Jump City. Why she was in Gotham, Damian didn’t know nor did he really care at the time. But her presence did provoke an emotion he was all too familiar with.

Zatanna leaned comfortably against Dick’s side, her head resting affectionately in the crook of his neck. Her hand was wrapped firmly around his.

An icy sensation creeped along his spine. Upon seeing them clinging to each other so intimately, Damian murmured a quick excuse to his father and retreated to the manor. Not once did he look at Dick.

He spent that night sharpening his knives and staring into the fireplace. He couldn’t think past the cold rage that overwhelmed his thoughts and swallowed all reason. Couldn’t find the will to pretend that he didn’t care. He was frustrated, livid and...hurt.

_I am such a fool._

"Are you okay?" Red Robin asked.  
  
Robin glanced at him absentmindedly. "Tt. Yes, why?"  
  
"Wha—you just cleared out this whole area and didn't even let either of us help," he said. "You went AWOL in the middle of a _mission_ and used way more force than necessary, Robin."  
  
Robin rolled his eyes. "Tt. If they're all still breathing, then I think I used the appropriate amount of force."  
  
"You broke that guy's ribs, you could've pierced his lungs."  
  
"And it would've been deserving of him. He runs a sex ring."  
  
"Do I have to talk to Batman?" Red Robin threatened.  
  
"I don't know, Drake, do you?" he scoffed. Robin could feel his temper unraveling.  
  
Red Robin glared. "You are most definitely getting benched."  
  
"And not the least bit surprising, seeing how you love to run to my father every time there's a problem," he sneered derisively. A small part of his mind urged him to pull back, to reel in his temper. But the majority of his thoughts grew less careful and more aggravated.  
  
Red Robin glowered icily at him. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm starting to not really care either. You've been aggressive this entire patrol _and_ disregarding orders. You're clearly in need of a time-out, _brat._ "  
  
"Tt. _Whatever.”_  
  
Red Hood leaned against the wall, snickering at the whole ordeal.

“You guys have no idea what a treat this is,” Red Hood said. “The replacement and the demon spawn going at it. Top notch entertainment, fellas.”

“Shut up,” Robin snapped. He marched off indignantly, ignoring Red Robin’s sharp orders and Red Hood’s unabashed laughter. He was beyond caring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

True to Drake's words, Damian was benched. 

He was sitting cross-legged on the infirmary bed. Alfred stood beside him, gingerly wrapping gauze around his scratched and bruised knuckles. 

Bruce was sitting in front of the massive batcomputer, back turned to Damian. Tim and Jason leaned against the batmobile shoulder to shoulder as casual spectators. To Damian's dread, Dick was present. He stood awkwardly beside Bruce's chair, permeating a sense of apprehension and concern. 

Damian was more than annoyed by the whole ordeal. Everyone knew exactly what was going to happen anyway. He didn't need an audience to witness his father discipline him. 

"...are you even listening?" 

Damian glanced up to find Bruce standing in front of him. A deep scowl marked his father's features, making him look several years older. Damian wanted to feel some sense of sympathy, but he was still in the process of filtering through his irritation. 

" _No."_

Bruce's lips tightened to a thin line, his expression became stony. Damian knew he had pushed a button. 

"You are not only benched for _deliberately_ disobeying orders and acting on your own, you're also grounded until further notice. For a _month_."

Damian blinked a few times. For a second, he could've sworn he saw straight red. 

"Isn't that just _cute_ ," Damian sneered. "You think you're punishing me." 

Bruce growled, "You've endangered yourself, your teammates, and severely injured eight men tonight. One of those men is going to be spending months in the ICU. Now is not the time to push my buttons, young man." 

"Pushing your buttons doesn't seem to take a lot effort from me, _father_. And those men were traffickers, I was going _easy_ on them."

"You're well on your way to two months if you keep up that disrespect. You know the rules." 

 Bruce glared down at Damian icily. Damian glared back, standing his ground. 

"Okay," Dick said suddenly, clasping his hands together. "I think we all need to cool off a little bit. Go off for a walk or something. You know, clear our heads here." 

At the sound of Dick's voice slashing through his already mounting rage, Damian swiftly sprung off the infirmary bed and stalked toward the staircase, ignoring Alfred's stern demands to return back to the bed. He was beyond caring. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“D? I know you're mad, but can you please just talk to me?”

Damian shifted underneath his covers, but made no move to get up.

“...I know you're upset,” Dick sighed. “That's okay, I just want to talk and let you vent. You need that right now, you can't bottle it all up." 

Damian sighed and stared at the door. Since his painful rejection from Dick had coupled with the punishment by his father, emotions ran higher than he could tolerate. He settled for the comfort of his room over the comfort of talking to anyone.

"You've been avoiding me for days, I'm not naivé. We still have an unresolved issue between us that needs to be addressed. We have to revisit it eventually, little D.”

More silence. Damian buried himself underneath his comforter. He knew Dick was still there.

“I'll come back tomorrow. We’re going to talk, goodnight.”

He heard Dick’s footsteps fade away from his door. He rolled off his futon and paced around his room. If Dick had come to talk to him, then his father would try to do the same. And Bruce would not be nearly as patient or lax as Dick. 

Damian snatched his phone, his headphones and sketchbook off his dresser. He eased out of his bedroom into the dimly lit corridor. He trailed through the maze that was the Wayne manor, twisting and turning corners along the expansive hallways. 

By the time he reached his destination, he was at the complete opposite end of the manor that was furthest from the batcave, therefore furthest from his father. He was standing at a deadend surrounded by luxurious paintings of deceased relatives. The end of the hallway shared a wide window that overlooked the plain and trees of the backyard. 

Damian glanced up at the black pull cord swinging gently above his head. It was connected to a swinging door latch in the ceiling, leading directly to the attic. 

He rose on his toes and yanked the cord down. The latch unclicked and swung open. A ladder dropped down before Damian in a smooth motion. He gathered his sketchbook in one arm and climbed the ladder with the other. 

He had discovered this anomaly about a few months ago while wondering the depths of the manor. The attic was decorated with old furniture, paintings, antiques and family heirlooms placed randomly on the floor. It was an intriguing sight for Damian, the amount of history just left to dust right above his head. After his initial discovery, he would make occasional journeys to the attic, finding solace in the quiet of the space. He often would use the items around him for his life drawings. 

Damian dragged the ladder back up and latched the door shut. He stood up, flicked the light switch on and peered around the room. 

The attic space was relatively...small. In comparison to the manor, one would expect it to be just as grand in size. Damian crossed the room, carefully maneuvering around chairs and lamps placed randomly on the floor. He eventually came to the rickety rocking he grew to favor over his visits. It was a nicely stylized wooden chair that looked to be inspired by Victorian aesthetics. Damian later discover the intials “T.W” engraved under one of the armrests, indicating it’s owner to be Thomas Wayne. 

He settled in the chair and began sketching. His pencil gracefully graze the blank page with ease. All his anxiety, anger, and frustration ebbed away with each confident stroke. Damian would never admit to anyone that this skill was simply therapeutic. 

Time passed by in a peaceful hum. He filled in several pages of objects and random scribbles. After a while, Damian glanced up to find another subject for his next sketch. He scanned the room before his eyes fell upon a tall object leaning against the wall. It was a long rectangular shape covered in a dreary white cloak.

Damian eased off the chair and sauntered towards it. He pulled back the cloak to reveal a body mirror. It was by and large extravagant. The wooden frame was delicately carved into vines and flowers curving and curling along the mirror, a mixture of acanthus and lotus motifs. At the very top of the mirror frame was a wooden carving of a beckoning  _hand._ Agoldenplaque was nestled delicately in the palm. It read the intials “M.W”. It belonged to Martha Wayne. 

It was absolutely magnificent. The craftsmanship was stunning. Damian began to question why it wasn’t propped proudly in his father’s library.  

His eye caught a light smudge on the mirror. Bothered, Damian pulled forward his sleeve to rub it away. Something as beautiful as this mirror shouldn’t be marred by an ugly smudge. 

Damian never felt the surface. The mirror rippled like water. His hand disappeared _inside_ the reflection, only his wrist was visible. 

He blinked. 

Before Damian could react at all, he began to experience tunnel vision. His mind was suddenly fatigued, his limbs grew increasing heavy. He tried to move away, but his body was tumbling forward. 

His own reflection was the last thing he saw before everything went blank. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love italics. So much can be emphasized with just words slanting.
> 
> Anywho, long chapter, I had to get to the point since I didn’t want to add a whole new chapter. Sorry if this felt a little rushed.


	3. Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oml this chapter kicked my ass. I had to re-write it at least three times to correct the pacing because I was too heavy handed with detail. I got it as close as I wanted it to be in terms of flow. If it got confusing at any point or you have questions, feel free to ask in the comments, I'll answer as best as I can. Anywho, enjoy!!

When he cracked opened his eyes, he saw figureless shadows dancing along the ceiling. Immediately familiar with the shapeless silhouettes, he knew without a doubt that he was in his bedroom. 

He shot out of his futon, completely mystified. He recalled an odd fainting spell in the _attic._ How did he get back to his room?

Perhaps Alfred had found him slumped on the floor and alerted Bruce. That would perfect make sense. But as he contemplated, he remembered locking the door to the attic, and no knew where he was prior to that peculiar incident. If he'd fainted, no one would've known. 

Somebody had found him and brought him back, he was certain of that. And if so, he knew that Bruce was probably checking on him periodically. His father would chew him out the moment he saw that Damian was indeed conscious again. 

Damian glanced at the fireplace with a bigger enigma in mind. What the hell could have triggered that black out? Damian mentally checked all of his activities; what he did, what he ate.

Nothing came to mind, nothing that would glaringly jeopardize his health. He considered patrol as a culprit, but even then he didn't recall being injured all that seriously. So what would have caused his mysterious lack of consciousness?

He briefly remembered the mirror, Martha's mirror. He remembered the way it... _rippled_  at his touch _._ He shook his head at the thought. It was probably a hallucination induced by whatever caused him to faint. Still, it was pretty bizarre. 

Damian furrowed his eyebrows and investigated every little detail of his memory. Why did he faint? How long was he unconscious? Who could've guessed where he was after blacking out?

As unanswerable questions whirled though his mind, he failed to notice Titus begging for his attention, whining and nudging his arm. Damian felt a wet slickness brush his cheek, finally noticing the Great Dane. He scratched the dog's ear, but Titus just hunched back and barked. 

Damian was puzzled. "What's the matter?"

His dog sprinted to the door, quaking with anticipation. Damian followed after, wondering what could cause Titus to feel so anxious. He cracked the door open and watched as the dog zipped down the hallway like a bullet. 

"Titus!" Damian shouted, dashing after him. 

Titus ignored his master and skirted corners. Damian knew they were making a beeline to the kitchen, what could be in the kitchen that snatched Titus' attention was beyond him though. 

The Great Dane was out of sight before he reached the stairs. Just as he bounded the steps, he heard a voice. 

"Ah! Master Damian, you are right on time. We just finished setting the table, hurry before your dinner grows cold," Alfred called from below. 

Damian's face twisted in confusion. It was entirely too late for dinner.

Regardless, he skipped the final steps and walked toward the kitchen, slowing his pace. He saw Alfred behind the counter, dragging a wet rag over the granite surface to wipe off crumbs and juices from whatever he decided to cook at such a late hour. 

"Well, young man, you kept your family waiting. Have a seat at the table," Alfred said, not looking at Damian. 

Damian's face soured. "What are you talking about? It's past midnight, what are you even doing—" 

" _Come on,_ D, we don't have all day. I'm _starving_."

Without looking, he knew the complaint came from Jason. Despite the complete unusualness of the situation, Damian was ready to snap at him. He opened his mouth to spit venom, but upon glancing at the sight in front of him the words fell silent on his tongue. 

Everyone was gathered at the dining table. Bruce, Tim, Jason, Stephanie, Cassandra, Barbara, all of them. Patient smiles rested on each individual face as they stared expectantly at Damian. He would've found it disturbing, the close attention centered on him, but that's not what made him freeze. 

It was their _eyes_. Their eyes were _black_. 

Irises were soaked with an ink black that stood out like a sore thumb. It was so solid, so _prominent,_ the pupils could not be distinguished. The sheer dominance of the hue made the whites of their eyes appear smaller in comparison. The sight was so surreal, in it's nature it reminded Damian of those stupid alien movies that Dick would annoy him into watching. Unnerving. 

“What the hell is going on? What happened to your eyes?” Damian exclaimed.

"What are you talking about, silly?" Stephanie giggled. 

"He's a little off his rocker. He _did_ fall pretty hard in the attic," Tim said thoughtfully. 

Damian's nerves started to come to life, he was thrumming with the instinct to run. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew for certain that the beings dining at the table were not his family members. So who who were they?

No, _what_ were they? 

 _Clones_ , he thought. Probably sent by his mother. But why? And how? When and where at any point in time would she or the League of Assassins get even remotely close enough to sample their DNA? Not one individual sitting at the dining table would be an easy adversary to subdue.

He inched backwards, feeling the ghost of adrenaline pumping through his system. He doubted he could outrun all of them, but he would try, dammit. He spun on his heel, ready to sprint before he bumped into something hard. 

"Yikes. Careful, little bird. Almost knocked you over."

Damian looked up to see Dick. Or Dick's doppelgänger. The resemblance was damn near perfect; the shaggy dark hair, the faint smile lines and dimples, the scares decorating the exposed skin on his arms—it was all so accurate. The only initial difference was his eyes, they were also black. 

Dick took hold of Damian's upper arms gently, yet firmly. Despite the danger he found himself in, Damian blushed.

"Where were you running off to anyway?" Dick asked. "Alfred made all your favorite dishes. You should eat." 

Damian shook his head, fighting the blush. "I'm not hungry, unhand me this moment."

"Don't be rude to your brother, Damian," Bruce rumbled behind him. 

"It's okay Bruce, he's new here. Probably just scared. Did anybody tell him what was going on?" Dick asked.

Jason chirped, "We assumed he already knew. You're the one who brought him." 

"Yeah, like, you two were the only ones missing from setting up the table. We all assumed that you were having the talk," Stephanie shrugged.

All this conversing and Damian still had no clue as to what was going on, it was beginning to piss him off. 

"I am _seconds_ away from stabbing someone unless I hear an explanation," Damian hissed. Dick smiled sweetly, completely unperturbed by Damian's threat. 

"If you have a seat next to me, I'll explain what you need to know, m'kay munchkin?" 

Damian didn't have time to linger on the new nickname as Dick spun him back around toward the dining table. Reluctantly, Damian sat down beside the doppelgänger. In front of him were dishes reminiscent of his early childhood; steaming Kabsa, Almento, Tabouleh, Fattoush, Beklava and Basbousa. These were middle eastern cuisines he would enjoy as an adolescent. The smell brought back the nostalgia of dining on a majestic balcony in some odd region, eating dinner with his mother during the golden hour. 

Everyone beside him filled their plate, chewing away and smiling. The thought of poison entering his system and incapacitating him ceased whatever desire he had to pick at the food. Damian noticed Dick watching him from his peripheral, he felt fingers caress the small of his back. 

"Eat up, munchkin," Dick said. "If you want me to tell ya what's going on, at least take a bite."

"You said if I sat next to you, you would explain everything I need to know. Never did you say I have to _eat_ anything," Damian scoffed. 

"True," Dick said thoughtfully. He scooped up a spoonful of Kabsa, a mountain of rice and vegetables. Dick took a small bite off the spoon, sliding his teeth off slowly. He held eye contact with Damian as he licked his lips almost _sensually_. 

"One bite is all I ask," he said huskily, offering half of his spoonful to Damian. 

Damian's face heated up. He felt a light tingle between his thighs and a shiver along his spine. If he didn't know any better, he'd think this clone was trying to seduce him. His face grew hotter when he realized there was still an audience. Damian stared down at his lap, battling the embarrassment. 

"Stop teasing him, Richard. You're being mean," he heard Stephanie say. 

Fingers slipped into his hair and drew his attention back up. 

"We're your 'other' family, Damian," Dick said. 

Damian made a face. "Excuse me?"

He continued, "We're your 'other' family. Your better family. We're the ideal version on the other side of the reflection. Speaking of which, do you remember fainting in the attic at all? Say, in front of a _really_ nice mirror, I'm talking a  _super_ nice mirror, and it had some weird rippling effect or whatever?" 

Yes, he wouldn’t forget that weird instance. And even as Dick explained it and the incident seemed to align with his tale, Damian's mind still called it a lie. It sounded ridiculous, stupid even. Clones invading his home and taking out the real versions of themselves sounded more plausible than a mirror granting his secret desire. He didn't believe it, and he didn't trust them either. He needed to devise a way out of the situation, needed to catch them on their bluff and alert others, maybe the Teen Titans or the Justice League, he didn't know. But he needed to test the waters first, needed to see how far they would go along with this lie. 

"Are you telling me my grandmother's mirror is the reason why you're all here?" he deadpanned.

"No, her mirror is the reason _you're_ here. The moment you entered the reflection, we came into existence and materialization. It's like a dream, but vivid enough to come to life in this case. You're free to come and go as you please," Dick said casually between bites. 

Damian scrunched his nose. Absurd.

"So, if I can come and go-"

"By the way, some of us go by full names in this reality. So, I'm not 'Dick' or 'Grayson', I'm Richard. I'd like for you to just call me Richard, not a fan of 'Dick', it just sounds goofy to me—"

"Fine, _Richard_. If I can come and go as I please, then I wish to leave, now." 

He heard the clack of silverware dropping on plates. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, the apprehension heavy in the air. No one around the table looked the least bit pleased about his demand, majority of the faces soured and frowned. The only individual that was relatively unfazed by his request was "Richard". 

Richard smiled gently at him before taking a final bite off his spoon. He pushed his chair back and rose, stretching and yawning before beckoning Damian to stand. 

"Sure thing, munchkin. I'll walk you back to the attic, but you have to promise me you won't try anything...funny," Richard winked suggestively. Damian felt that annoying blush creep up his neck and seep into his cheeks. 

They left the dining room and trailed up the stairs. Damian walked with Richard behind him, feeling eyes burn into the back his nape. If Damian had hoped to run, it would be difficult with a clone five feet away from him, studying his every move. And knowing that this clone was anything like the real Dick Grayson, he would be pinned to the floor in a matter of seconds. Damian would have to catch him off guard.

After twisting and turning along the corridors of the manor, they reached the attic. Richard was the last to walk up the ladder and lock the door. He nudged Damian toward the mirror. 

"This is stupid. I can't believe you expect me to buy into your lies," Damian grunted. 

Dick chirped, "I've known what you've been thinking the entire time. It’s written all over your face. But I'm about to blow your mind, little bird, just watch." 

They stood in front of the Martha's mirror. Aside from being majestic beyond belief, it looked relatively normal with a bit of dust collecting on the surface. Damian stared into his annoyed reflection. Richard rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"What're you waiting for? Go on, touch it so you can go home," Richard insisted. 

Damian threw a glare at the doppelgänger. He decided to play along anyway, anticipating the moment when this clone would pull the rug from under him. He raised his hand to graze his reflection. 

The anticipation was never met. 

One index finger touched the surface, but felt nothing. The reflection danced under each minuscule movement. He slid the entirety of his hand in the mirror, amazed.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Richard chuckled.

Damian did not respond. His mind went completely blank, not believing the sight in front of him. His hand swirled freely _inside_ the mirror, like a pool of water. His reflection distorted and melted into the waves dancing across the surface. 

After a stretch of silence, Damian finally spoke. 

“There is a portal in the attic of my home."

"Yep. No lies here, munchkin."

"There is a _portal_ in my _attic_. How?" Damian exclaimed. 

Richard shrugged. "Don't ask me, it's always been this way. This mirror has always been this way."

Damian sink his arm into the reflection, up to his shoulder. All rational thought stuttered at this undeniable evidence. It was baffling. 

However, there was still distrust and apprehension floating in his mind. So there's an alternate reality, doesn't necessarily mean that it's all that Richard claimed it to be. Doesn't mean that there isn't anything darker lying under surface. And there has to be a reason it was in the attic in the first place, right? His father left something of his grandmother's to dust away for years. Regardless, this whole "ideal reality" thing sounded entirely too....good. Damian remained wary. 

"I guess this is goodbye, for now," he heard Richard say.

Before he stepped into the mirror, Damian felt a tap on his shoulder. He twisted his neck to glance at Richard. He felt the warmth of a sigh brush his cheek gently, then soft, plush lips pressing against his. Damian remained stock-still, feeling his lips mold with Richard's. He flinched at the playful nip on his soft flesh. Richard pulled away and smirked wickedly. 

"I just want to give you something to think about while you're away. A little parting gift," Richard breathed. 

Damian said nothing at that. He turned away and walked into the mirror, fighting the burn in his cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, just being real here about those middle eastern cuisines....not sure if I was 100% accurate in that description. I looked it up, under the knowledge that Damian is somewhat exposed to that culture since he is of arab descent himself, from what I learned they were specified as "arab cuisine". But, I felt I needed to make the generalization by saying "middle eastern cuisine" because I could be wrong about one of those dishes. If I am, let me know, I' ll make adjustments.
> 
>  
> 
> P.s  
> I know this might end up a little confusing, but for the sake of the story I'm just going to clarify. When I switch back and forth between realities, Dick is Main-verse and Richard is Alternate Dick Grayson, just to differentiate between the two. All the background characters aren't nearly as important, so I simply will differentiate those by indicating realities and aspects of their character. But when I refer to one individual as 'Richard' know that I'm not actually talking about main-verse Dick. 
> 
> "Dick"=Main-verse Dick Grayson  
> "Richard"=Alternate Dick Grayson


	4. Entice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys. This is where things get a little less Coraline–esque and more me being a pervert. It is rated mature, so it was bound to happen anyways. >=}
> 
> After this chapter, I’m not sure how long it’ll be before I update again. School just started back up, so things are going to get busy on my end. Hopefully I can finish chapter 5 on a timely manner. Anyways, enjoy.

"Why is grandmother's mirror in the attic?" 

Surprised, the butler glanced at Damian. He lowered the duster and climbed down from the stool. 

"So, it _was_ you who removed the sheet," Alfred said as he straightened his vest. 

Days have passed since Damian's discovery about the mirror. He took that time to dwell on what he learned, which hadn't been much. He was half certain that the whole ordeal had been a hallucination induced by his black-out, that it was a mere product of his imagination. But that assumption was squashed when his mind toyed with a certain memory that involved soft lips and a smug smile. It felt real enough to ignite a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. Crazy with curiosity, he finally seeked out Alfred in the living room who was dusting away at picture frames. 

It was eerie, looking at his butler with the alternate version in mind. Even though Alfred's doppelgänger had been lingering in the background, he exuded an uncanny quality that made Damian anxious. The Alfred in front of him right now was of course the Alfred that he was familiar with. The butler's eyes were a dusty blue that quelled much of Damian's unease.

"I was sketching and I stumbled across it," Damian said smoothly. "It's a very intricate piece of furniture. Very exquisite. Why is it in the attic of all places? Why is it not displayed here or in father's study?" 

Alfred regarded Damian thoughtfully before answering. 

"Martha did not want it out for guests. She especially did not wish for your father to come near it. Out of respect for her, Master Bruce has left it out of sight and kept his distance," Alfred said simply. 

Damian's face twisted. "Do you know why that is, Pennyworth?" 

Alfred tapped his chin lightly. "She never explained _why_ , Master Damian. She never explained what was wrong with it. She just didn't want anyone near it, especially young Bruce. What I do recall, if my memory stands correct, is that she claimed the original owner of the mirror had deceived her. Her side of the family had bought it off of a Greek artisan in some odd place in Italy, and whoever he was had lied to her about the condition of the mirror. That's all the history I can give you, Master Damian." 

So, someone pushed the burden on his grandmother, made it _her_ problem. Then what was the catch? An alternate reality that was ideal to the reality he currently resided in, it sounded like a good deal, way too good. That likely meant there had to be something off about it. Damian did not make up the creep factor he encountered when he entered the mirror, the apprehension, the intensity, the behavior of the doppelgängers. The ambiance felt heavy at the time, even if they didn't necessarily respond to him with hostility. 

Alfred cleared his throat, "Shouldn't you be in your room, young man? Your punishment is still in effect until Master Bruce says otherwise." 

Damian rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. He marched back to the staircase, still trying to puzzle the pieces together, trying to figure out what he should do next. Mid stride he heard a voice that filled him with instant dread. 

"Hey, Alfie! You know where Bruce went?" 

Dick wasn't suppose to come to the manor until later on, when Tim returned from his trip to Star City. Why he was here _now_   was beyond Damian. Damian hastened his pace, his frame growing more defensive the longer he was still in the living room. 

"Aren't you going to say 'hi', Damian?" a female voice called. 

Zatanna. He came with Zatanna. Damian was tempted to stab himself with the nearest sharp object. 

Sighing heavily through his nose, he turned around but kept his distance. Zatanna was all smiles and vibrancy. She wasn't wearing her magician get-up, instead she donned a simple red sundress with sandals. She was latched onto Dick's arm, who casually wore a gray suit with the front unbutton. It was unusual how nicely dressed they were, especially Dick. Almost like they had just returned from a fancy event. 

Like they had just returned from a date. 

Damian wore his poker face and ignored Dick's awkward vibes. 

 _"Hi,"_  he said precisely. He turned around and walked away. 

As he marched up the stairs, he heard them converse lightly. 

"Yikes. I see the attitude hasn't changed. He's gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw him, though," Zatanna chirped.

Alfred responded promptly, "Yes, it'll be some time before that aspect of his character changes. As for Master Bruce, he recently left for downtown. I believe he intended to share a brunch with the D.A...."

Damian squeezed his eyes shut and drowned it all out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Against better judgement, against _common sense_ , he went back inside the mirror.  

From what he observed, the alternate reality mimicked everything he knew and saw. The manor was exactly the same as his own, and the people he knew were made with the same physical precision. So, one can imagine his eagerness at the thought of the batcave.

Damian ducked down, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a foot.

With ease, he tucked and rolled away from Richard. He could feel the mat sticking to his feet as he rose off the ground, every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation.

Richard took a defensive stance a few feet away. He wore a smirk.

“Got some fire in you, munchkin?”

Damian gritted his teeth. “You _will_ stop calling me that.”

Since his punishment, he had not been permitted to use the training facility, let alone enter the batcave. If this reality had everything he wanted, he was going to take advantage of it.

Damian charged forward without hesitation. Richard easily sidestepped him, avoiding an oncoming fist. Damian whirled around, suddenly dropping to the ground. He swiped a leg underneath Richard, throwing him off balance. With the grace of a feline, he allowed himself to fall backwards only to push himself off his palms, doing a quick handstand before settling back onto his feet.

“You’re angry,” Richard mused. “But not necessarily at me, though.”

“Shut up,” Damian growled.

Damian raced at him again, this time launching off his heels into the air. He brought one leg down swiftly, but Richard avoided that too. Instead, he grabbed Damian’s leg and slammed him into the mat, stunning him temporarily.

“Was it my other half? Did he do something to upset you?” Richard inquired.

Damian glared up at the doppelgänger. He wanted to fight, to vent in his own way. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“ _Shut up_ and _fight me_ ,” he hissed. He pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the stars in his vision. His attacks were growing careless, more vengeful, more aggressive. He finally caught Richard by surprise and pinned him to the mat, sitting triumphantly on his chest with grips on either wrist. Richard just blinked at him.

“He definitely did something,” he concluded.

Damian’s face soured at his persistence. He rolled off of him and rose to his feet.

“Do you remember that little goodbye kiss before you left last time?” Richard asked nonchalantly.

Damian hesitated, feeling that routine bashfulness make an appearance in the form of a blush. Of course he remembered, he would never forget something like that. But like everything else, he’s pushed it to the back of his mind. Like the rejection, like Zatanna’s implied relationship with Dick, he pushed it all away, denying it any consideration.

Richard continued, “I’m ideal to your taste, so I already adore you. What does that imply about my other half?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You already know what it implies, don’t ask me stupid questions.”

“Did _he_ know? Or did you just confess? It’s pretty clear that he rejected you, but did you drop the ball on him or was he was aware beforehand?”

“Ideal my ass,” Damian grumbled. “You are a terrible sparing partner.” 

“I’m just trying to get the whole story, munchkin. How can I make you feel better if you’re all hush about it?” 

“You can’t make feel anything,” Damian murmured, eyes glued to his feet. 

Richard snorted, “I doubt that. I’m capable of _many_ things, I’m capable of listening.” 

Damian continued to stare at his feet, pondering. He searched for the words. This would be the first time he’s confided in anybody about his predicament. 

“He...didn’t know,” Damian said softly. “At least I think, he certainly didn’t...respond as though he knew. I had just hoped that maybe...” 

He trailed off, shaking his head. He finally looked at Richard sitting cross-legged on the mat, emotionless black eyes boring into him. The hairs on Damian’s nape stood up straight, goosebumps rose from his skin. 

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

Damian wrinkled his nose, “You’re talking nonsense.”

Richard hummed, “Mm, I doubt it. If that were the case, why would I exist?”

“This was foolish,” he scoffed. He turned away. 

“Where are you going?” Richard asked sharply as Damian stalked off the mat.

“Home. My _real_ home. This whole thing is outrageous, I shouldn’t even be entertaining any of this,” he said.

Richard leaped off the ground and raced after him toward the locker room. Inside, Damian snatched a folded pair of clean clothes off the bench. He sharply turned around but was intercepted by Richard. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to help you feel better, that’s all.” 

Damian snorted, “Your intentions mean nothing. It’s best if I just leave.” 

He attempted to nudge around the older man, but firm hands gripped his arms, holding him in place.

“Talk to me,” Richard said. “I’ll listen, unlike him.”

“What else is there to say?” Damian snapped. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, it was all pointless from the start. Quit pestering me.” 

“Just stay a little longer,” he said. “Humor me. Everything here is at your disposal, everything you could want is right here. So...why not let me fill in the gap?”  

Damian hesitated. He knew what that meant, he knew what Richard was implying. Dick wasn’t an option. But Richard...

He could be.

Damian tasted soft lips. 

He didn’t push him away though, not even when the older man lightly trailed a path of searing kisses along his jawline, just below his ear. Richard bowed to kiss Damian’s neck, sucking harshly at his collarbone. His hands left Damian’s arms and settled on his waist.

Fingers ghosted his sides, gradually awakening goosebumps. Damian sighed and leaned into the touch.

His thoughts roamed. A voice whispered in the corner of his mind, scolded him, warned him against this. He forgot about it when a strong hand gripped the back of his thigh, right under the cusp of his ass. 

Waves of arousal danced between his thighs, making his legs grow weak. The skin on Damian’s collarbone became sensitive under Richard’s kissing and sucking. Richard took a playful nip at the area, causing Damian to flinch. Satisfied, the older man travelled back to his mouth, alternating between sucking the plush flesh and kissing Damian breathless. 

Damian wrapped desperate arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. They continued that little activity for a few minutes, Damian’s mind slowly being saturated with arousal. He felt hands slide toward his hips.

Something stiff brushed him. Despite the excitement, the desire, Damian hesitated. Richard sensed it, and pulled back. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked in a thick voice. 

Damian’s mind raced. A lot was happening right now. A part of him wanted this, _badly_. Countless times in bed, in the shower, hell, even here in the locker room when he was certain he was alone, he’d touch himself with a scenario like this in mind. Wanting Dick the way he did, this should’ve felt like a dream come true. But...

“This isn’t exactly how I’ve envisioned this,” Damian breathed. “This just feels like I’m...settling.” 

“What? For less?” Richard yanked his T-shirt over his head, revealing scarred tissue and sculpted muscles. Damian sighed at the sight. 

He was pulled back in for another kiss. Richard was becoming more aggressive, more impatient.

“I’m anything _but_ less,” Richard murmured between kisses.

Hands suddenly lift Damian off the floor by his thighs. By instinct, he wrapped limbs around Richard’s shoulders and waist. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Damian exclaimed. 

Richard laughed, “Showing you a good time?” 

Damian was placed on the bench. His chest was pressed down, forcing him into a recline. Richard loomed over him, black irises smoldering.  

Damian’s head lolled to the side as Richard started to knead his thighs, spreading his legs wider. He chewed his bottom lip as fingertips teasingly brushed his growing erection. Richard leaned forward, lips inches away from Damian’s ear. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” Richard whispered. “You’re loyal, passionate, and so brave. He doesn’t deserve any of that. None of them deserve you.”

Breathy moans escaped Damian. Richard disappeared from his vision, the delicious kneading disappearing too. Disappointment started to flood his head until his shorts were swiftly yanked to his ankles. He glanced down to see Richard kneel between his legs. 

“Just relax,” he said. Damian propped himself on his elbows, curious. 

Richard, with a smirk, gripped Damian’s cock and stroked. A cry bounced off the walls sharply, it took Damian a moment to realize that the sound emitted from himself. Richard followed a very steady rhythm, twisting his fist and squeezing every now and then. Damian gritted his teeth, curling his toes to the slow pleasure. 

He flinched when he felt it. Long digits pushing inside of him, stretching him out. He inhaled sharply through his nose, wincing. 

“Easy,” Richard groaned. “Just relax. It’ll feel better, I promise.” 

And it did, eventually. The ache subsided after some gentle thrusting and stretching. Moans and gasps filled the silence, Damian felt awkward but couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to stop. Richard brought his tongue along the length before nipping lightly at the head. Damian clenched the sides of the bench in frustration. 

Eventually, Richard stood up. He hooked his hands underneath Damian’s knees and slid him forward, right up to his hips. Damian relaxed, taking deep breaths. He heard clothes shifting around, glancing up to see Richard had done away with his shorts and briefs. Damian’s face grew red seeing Richard’s cock, seeing a replica of  _Dick’s_ cock. 

“Spread ‘em,” he commanded. Damian let his legs fall apart, anticipating. 

There was a sharp twinge. Fingers simply weren’t enough, but the preparation did help to combat the pain. Richard slid in slowly, watching Damian’s face. 

The thrusts started off shallow, light. As time passed though, Richard kicked up the pace, rolling his hips deeper. Damian wrapped legs around the older man’s hips, reaching above his head to grip the end of the bench. 

“So good you are,” Richard grunted. “If only he knew.” 

“ _Faster_ ,” Damian huffed. 

Richard obeyed. He penetrated harder, fingers bruising Damian’s waist. Damian’s moans competed with skin slapping. Pleasure mounted and soared. He bit his lip harshly and locked his legs around Richard, stilling the thrusts as his body trembled with his orgasm. 

Damian’s muscles relaxed, arms and legs falling limp. Richard rolled him to his side and continued thrusting until he reached an orgasm, coming inside of Damian. 

Kisses suddenly fluttered Damian’s neck, cheek, and lips. He turned his head to kiss him back, tasting sweat. 

“You’re so good,” Richard said in a hushed voice. “If only he knew.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I enjoy raunchy shit from time to time, that last scene was entirely too long. I seriously hope this was enjoyable for those of you out there bc this straight up snatched my spirit. I am hella burnt out right lol. Chapter 5 will come soon hopefully.


	5. Facade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right around here is where I’m about to butcher the Court of Owls mythology and Coraline.
> 
> I feel really bad about this because I love Dick sooooo much, he’s my cupcake. But in this chapter, he’s gonna be a bit of dick (pun intended ;)

“Are you listening?” 

Damian snapped out of his daze. He withstood the instinctual cringe of his father’s disgruntled face. 

For the first time in weeks, he was in the batcave. It caught him by surprise; he’d grown use to the lack of patrol and training equipment, instead occupying himself with the mirror and Richard. 

Richard. 

He internally shouted obscenities at himself while raging war against the flush threatening to spill across his features. He did not need to give his father a reason to be suspicious. 

Bruce leaned in his leather chair, ominous and brooding as usual. Damian fought the urge to squirm as Bruce considered him quietly. 

“You’ve been...well behaved as of late,” Bruce said. 

Damian furrowed his eyebrows. He hasn’t expressed his temper as severely as he would’ve under normal circumstances. Since his punishment, he’s kept to himself. One would take that as a sign of a lesson well learned, but knowing how paranoid Bruce was, his silence could be the one thing that would reveal his secret. 

“Yes,” Damian replied carefully. 

Bruce rested his chin on laced fingers. A beat of silence passed between them. 

“You’re ungrounded,” Brice said simply. 

Damian tilted his head, “Is that so?” 

“Yes,” Bruce whirled his chair back around to face the batconputer. Damian walked beside him to gaze at the monitor, peering at an unidentifiable individual. 

“You are also unbenched,” Bruce continued. “I need you to patrol tonight. There’s been a string of murders in the past few weeks. Mostly targeted at socialites.” 

“Murders?” Damian exclaimed. This was the first time his father had ever mentioned anything to that degree. 

“Yes,” Bruce said. He zoomed the image on the monitor, bringing the mysterious individual closer. Damian realized it was a paused recording taken from a street surveillance, the monitor depicted a dingy alley somewhere in Gotham. A figure cloaked completely in black wandered the aisle of the alley. His face was masked with a black veil; blue goggles were embedded in the veil and golden frames lined the contour of his nose and eyebrows. A belt of throwing knives sat across his chest blatantly and glinted under the street lamp. 

“He calls himself Talon,” Bruce growled. “Relatively new to Gotham. On top of his killing sprees, he’s been making ties with some notorious crime lords. By the looks of it, he’s here to stay.” 

“You haven’t been able to catch him?” 

Bruce grunted, “No, not _yet_. He’s slippery. I have a hunch he’s been trained by Deathstroke.” 

This sounded incredulous to Damian. Deprived of patrol for weeks and now a serial killer was lurking the streets. A serial killer that _Batman_ couldn’t even catch. Damian should’ve felt giddy at the challenge, should’ve been thrumming with the anticipation to put on his suit and hunt this man down. 

He felt none of those things. He wanted to go to the attic, to the mirror. 

He just wanted Richard. 

But sitting out patrol was not an option if he intended to avoid his father’s suspicions. He was just going to have to wait. 

“Considering how dangerous this man is, it’s safe to assume I have a partner tonight,” Damian said. 

“Yes,” Bruce replied. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend later on, and Red Robin is busy in Star City. Nightwing will be assisting you.” 

Damian gritted his teeth. He narrowly clicked his tongue.

 _“Great.”_  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The silence was deafening. 

They sat in the batmobile. Robin watched the buildings fly by as he leaned against the window. From his peripheral, Nightwing gripped the steering wheel rigidly. Every now and then, he’d glance at Robin, as if to say something, but then shake his head and return his focus to driving. 

Nightwing parked the batmobile in an alley, behind a dumpster. Robin immediately snapped off the seatbelt, eager to be liberated from the overall awkwardness of the car drive. 

Just as he lifted the door handle Nightwing grabbed his arm, halting his movements. 

“We need to talk, Damian.” 

“Like hell we do,” Robin snapped. “And no names on the job.” 

“Damian—“ 

“Let me go. _Don’t_ touch me, ever.” 

“I’m sorry,” Nightwing stated. “About...Zatanna. I'm sorry.” 

Robin knocked his hand away. “You don’t need to apologize for your _girlfriend_. You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m _fine_.” 

“I shouldn’t have brought her around you. I was in the wrong for that.” 

Robin pushed the door open and leaped out, slamming it shut and storming away. He looked for a ledge, any ledge to shoot off his grapple hook. If Nightwing was going to bring personal baggage to patrol, then he was going awol. 

A door swung open behind him. Footsteps rushed toward him. 

“Damian—”

“ _No names_.” 

Nightwing took ahold of his gloved hand. Robin attempted to snatch it away, but Nightwing’s grip was firm. 

“I want things to be okay between us,” he said. “I haven’t been going about any of this well. And it’s a lot harder when you avoid me at every given chance. I just want to be on good terms with you, D. I really miss that.” 

Robin hesitated. A part of him _did_ miss their relationship, the bond, the stupid banters. This whole thing had driven an ugly wedge between them. A part of him wanted to be on good terms, too. 

Nightwing continued, “I don’t think beating around the bush is going to do either of us any good. We can move past this, it’ll take some time but—”

Nightwing paused, a perplexed expression marring his features. It threw Robin off, who had been listening earnestly and thoughtfully. Nightwing tugged him, peering closely at his face.

“What the hell is that?” Nightwing asked. 

Robin leaned away. “What the are you talking about?” 

“ _That_ —on your neck. What is it?” 

Fingers pushed their way inside the collar of Robin’s vest, pulling and stretching at the fabric to expose his skin to the cool air. 

“Get off of me, Grayson—”

“Is that a _hickey_?” 

Robin smacked a hand over his neck, feeling panic clutch his throat. Richard was very open and _aggressive_ about his affection. Despite Damian’s sharp complaints, he’d leave bite marks and bruises all over his body. Covering the dark marks hadn’t been a dire concern though, being grounded meant he was mostly confined to his room. On top of that, he wore outfits that covered a vast amount of skin anyways. Such comfort made him careless, forgetful. 

“It’s nothing,” Robin murmured. 

“It’s a bruise. A very isolated bruise. You’ve been out of commission for a month, so it can’t be from patrol. _Where_ and _who_ did you get it from?” Nightwing demanded. 

“Its _nothing_.” 

“Did you leave the manor? Did you let someone _in_ the manor?” 

“It’s none of your business, Grayson.” 

“If I have to talk to Batman—”

“ _Excuse me?_ Why do you care?” Robin snapped. “With that display you put on with Zatara, I’d think you’d be glad.” 

Nightwing gritted his teeth. “You can’t just let people in and out of the manor, especially when you’re on punishment.” 

“Again, why do you care? You wouldn’t _threaten_ to talk to my father if this was about anything else.” 

And he was right. Dick was lenient, he kept things between him and Damian. He rarely involved Bruce unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Robin marched away indignantly, fuming. Nightwing followed after. 

“All that talk about wanting to make up and be open, yet in the same breath try to intimidate me?” Robin hissed. “The hypocrisy.” 

Nightwing sighed in frustration, catching up to him. 

“Jesus. Look Damian, I’m sorry. I went overboard—”

Something shiny whizzed past Nightwing’s temple. On high alert, he grabbed Robin’s middle and leaped away, performing quick twists and turns in the air. Robin digged frantic fingers into his arms, just as alert. 

The backflips stopped. Fingers loosened and Robin wriggled out of the death grip. Several feet away was a throwing knife embedded into the side of a brick building, the blade glinted menacingly.

“Didn’t he tell you no names on the job?” 

The voice came from behind. Nightwing whipped around, escrima sticks at the ready. Robin whirled into a defensive stance, hands ghosting over his shurikens. 

A black figure leaned against the batmobile. His face was completely draped, blue goggles nestled squarely over his hidden features. A belt of knives were displayed proudly across his chest. Robin sucked in a breath. 

“ _Talon_ ,” Nightwing growled. “Heard a lot of things about you.” 

Talon traced deliberate fingers over the hood of the vehicle, tapping lightly. 

“Good things, I hope,” he said.

He took a step forward. Robin snatched the shurikens from his belt, tensing all over. Talon halted, tilting his head almost eerily.  

“You’re going to Arkham,” Robin barked. 

The man donned in black seemed completely unmoved by the threat. In fact, to Robin’s agitation, he appeared amused. The deep chuckles emitting from the veil said as much. 

“He’s precious,” Talon chuckled. “Isn’t he just admirable? Such a spitfire.”

Nightwing growled, “What do you want?” 

“Aside from crushing Bruce’s skull?” 

In the blink of an eye, Talon charged quickly at Nightwing. Knives pierced the air, moving with the accuracy of a bullet. Nightwing flipped away, roughly shoving Robin back. He was able to dodge most of them, granted a few nicks kissed his arms. 

Like a viper, Talon moved sharply, closing in on Nightwing. Robin pushed himself off the ground as Talon started to rain a series of vicious swipes with a throwing knife in his fist. 

With his bearings gathered, Robin sprung forward and fisted the back of Talon’s veil, roughly yanking him down. Relentless, Talon twisted around and swiped a foot underneath Robin. His legs gave, tumbling backwards in an evitable fall. His teeth clamped down onto his tongue as his skull smacked into the ground. Stars danced in his vision as blood started to slosh in his mouth. 

Talon briefly turned his attention back to Nightwing. Without an ounce of hesitation, he flunged a knife into Nightwing’s leg, embedding the blade deep within his quads. 

“I hope Bruce proves to be a greater challenge,” Talon said over Nightwing’s pained exclaim. “This is a tad bit disappointing.”

Robin turned his head to spit out the blood, not quite ready to sit up. He heard heavy boots stop beside his ear, a shadow dropping over his form. He rolled his head forward to see Talon crouching over him. 

“...I’m sorry,” he said lowly. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is to hurt you, but you forced my hand.” 

Robin snarled, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?” 

Talon tilted his head thoughtfully, bringing gloved fingers to tap the edge of his goggles. 

“I want a lot of things, little bird. A lot. Aside from killing your father, I want you. You’re perfect in every way. They don’t deserve you.” 

Robin’s face twisted. “What the hell—”

Talon leaped over him and backflipped a few feet away, avoiding a sharp kick from Nightwing. 

“Stay away from him,” Nightwing snapped. His hand gripped the blade launched into his leg. 

“And _you_ are going to be the cherry on top,” Talon chirped with mirth.

Before they could do anything, Talon shot off his grapple hook and zipped up the nearest building, sending one final look to Robin before disappearing over the ledge. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damian slouched forward as Alfred dabbed rubbing alcohol on his back. 

They were in the cave. Minutes have passed with Bruce and Dick arguing, their voices rising and bouncing off the walls. 

“...then let’s go through old files,” Dick stressed. “He could be somebody’s apprentice, maybe a son of an old enemy.” 

“Not likely,” Bruce grunted. “I’ve searched every file I have, there’s nothing that could point to him being affiliated with anyone.” 

“Not even Slade?” 

“No. Whoever Talon is, he’s independent in terms of background. That isn’t to say he doesn’t have acquaintances, but I’ve yet to find traces of even _that_. He recently started to build a criminal clientele.” 

Damian suddenly flinched at the slight burn of alcohol dabbed against his shoulder blade. His injuries were not severe. Aside from a mild concussion, Damian sustained bruises and scratches, mostly on his back. 

Dick on the other hand, who was leaning against a crutch, suffered lacerations on his arms. The blade had dug a good three inches into his leg, requiring several stitches and heavy bandages. Upon examination, Talon had narrowly missed an artery. 

“You must’ve met him at some point,” Dick argued. “He wants to kill you.” 

Bruce said, “There’ll always be people I haven’t met who want me dead, Dick. This isn’t new.” 

Damian tuned them out and contemplated Talon. It was curious how he knew exactly where to find Robin and Nightwing, something Dick and Bruce surprisingly seemed to overlook. Had he followed them? Did he have hidden cameras along the area? 

How did he know Batman’s identity? 

Talon must’ve been lurking long enough to catch Robin’s real name, but that alone wouldn’t mean anything. Dick wasn’t foolish, he would never utter full names during patrol. Talon wouldn’t be able to make the jump from Damian to Bruce with that little bit of information. 

So, how does he know? Why is he so bent on Bruce? 

Why does he want Damian? 

Damian furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought. He recalled what he had said, the words floated in his thoughts like smoke. 

 _They don’t deserve you_. 

It...was peculiar. Specific. And out of left field. Damian didn’t know what to think of that claim. But more so, it was reminiscent of someone else. 

_He doesn’t deserve you._

No. 

Damian shook his head. It couldn’t be. The mirror was everything he wanted, Richard was everything he wanted in Dick. Murder wasn’t one of those qualities. 

But...was it really outside the realm of possibility? 

“Damian,” Bruce snapped. 

Damian jolted under Alfred’s care. He’d been lost in thought. Bruce glared at him icily while Dick bore regret in his tired limbs. 

“Did he say anything unusual?” Bruce demanded. “Anything that could give us leads?” 

Damian fought the desire to chew his lip and tap his nails. 

_They don’t deserve you._

_He doesn’t deserve you._

_“_ No _._ ”

Bruce paused and stared at him for long time. A prickling sensation danced along his nape, his father always had a way of making him feel transparent. 

"Fine," Bruce turned away. "I'll need the both of you reviewing files with me. I'll have Tim and Jason infiltrate Arkham and Blackgate to see what we can gather." 

Bruce returned to his computer and started pulling up archives. Dick limped toward Damian until he was close enough to lean against the infirmary bed. He stared at the various bandages decorating his arms, saw the blood lightly seeping through the fabric. 

Dick huffed tiredly, “About tonight...I'm sorry." 

Damian blinked. 

“It’s fine,” Damian murmured. “Just...forget about it.” 

He’d yet to process through their argument. Had yet to plow through the events of tonight thoroughly and string together the pieces. He needed to think. 

He needed to go back to the mirror. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters will probably take the longest to dish out since I’m being rammed with class work now. So premature apologies fellow readers. 
> 
> Also, the way I’m building this story, I personally feel like Damian is smart enough to catch on to what’s going on, but will probably deny it since he likes the idea of having another version of Dick. I dunno, I feel like I need to add that he’s just a tad bit smarter than Coraline. Jus sayin guys. He’s a smart cookie.


	6. Update Chapter XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update.

So....just an update for you readers. I hate to do this because I feel like it's a waste of a chapter, but I also hate to leave you guys in the dark. Just wanted to let you guys know that **I might have to put this on hold until the second week of February (hopefully)** since school is getting a bit busy. Gotta take care of my academics first and foremost. But, I promise no later than February that this story WILL be finished. I am a firm believer in finishing what you start, so I'm not ditching this story. If you don't see updates for a couple of weeks it's because life is happening, nothing major. Sorry for this chapter, I know it's a bit of disappointment. I have a guilt complex, and not saying anything was kinda bugging me. 

 

Anyways, until next time, I hope to see you guys around for chapter 7. :) 


	7. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, looks like I'm a liar. I was able to get around to this chapter sooner than I thought. So I'm glad about that. I hope I can be able to finish the next two chapters as briskly. Anyways, Enjoy!

Green eyes danced to the slight quiver of his reflection. He sighed as he retracted his hand from the mirror.

He was growing irate at his own indecisiveness. For the past several days, it's been a constant battle of going back and forth with himself. Each time he entered the attic, he would march with a strong sense of assertiveness and determination. Yet, as soon as he came face to face with his own reflection, his will would begin crack and he'd find himself turning away with his tail tucked between his legs, his face burning with shame for being so _weak_. 

He needed to pull himself together. This cowardice would end now, whether he liked it or not. He needed all his bearings to come to terms with his final decision, a decision that gnawed at his thoughts daily. 

He was going to break the mirror. 

If he could, that is. He considered hurling it against the floor and smashing the back part with his foot. Punching the surface would be a complete waste of energy, his fists would simply cross the portal. 

A part of him reasoned that he should just do it now. If Richard turned out to be Talon, then it was the only reasonable solution. Talon had already killed people and raised enough hell to make _Batman_ feel frosty. Breaking the mirror would end all of that in a matter of seconds. How he would explain a broken mirror to his father would be his only concern afterward. It made sense. 

But Damian couldn't bring himself to walk away that easily. 

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed...closure. A part of him did invest his hopes in this pitiful fantasy, so he wanted to see it through to the end. He needed to feel justified in his decision. 

Damian inhaled deeply and shook his head. He set one foot over the threshold and watched as the entirety of his leg sink into the reflection. He used the remainder of his willpower leap the rest of the way into the mirror. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A rustle brushed his ears. Damian paused and peered around. 

The corridor was desolate. Even under the dim of the light, he was trained enough to detect a presence, but he sensed no one. That, however, did not stop the voice in his head telling him that he was being watched. Damian stared at the shadows in the hall, daring the shapeless forms to morph into menacing silhouettes. 

Up until now, he had yet to cross paths with any of the doppelgangers. This should've been a praiseworthy aspect of the situation. Damian wanted to be as swift as possible in his endeavors, he wanted to confirm his suspicion about Talon's identity without attracting the attention of Richard or the others. It was a "get in and get out" type of plan. So, the silence should've been comforting. 

It wasn't. 

Damian continued his silent trek along the hallway, listening and scanning. He sharply turned a corner and increased his pace, damn near running. He stopped in front of the door that led to his father's study, gingerly pushing it open, cringing at every creak and squeak.

Light spilled into the dark room as the door slowly swung open. He felt the wall for the switch and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding until brightness touched every inch of the study, the very  _empty_ study. Damian closed the door promptly and crossed the room toward the bookshelf. He carefully rearranged the books to trigger the switch, smirking when he heard the twist of steel doors and saw the bookshelf splitting open down the middle. 

Books tipped out of their placement and fell in a heap. Damian kicked them aside and attempted the to pull the steel doors open, leading to the batcave. 

"And just what do you think you're doing, Master Damian?"

Damian jumped and whirled around. Alfred, the _other_ Alfred, stood nonchalantly in front of the entryway with his hands behind his back. Damian felt mystified, he knew for a fact that he did not hear the door to the study open at all. Stealth or not, that damn thing creaked enough to alert anyone within fifteen feet. So, how did he enter without drawing Damian's attention? Was he here the entire time and shockingly Damian did not _see_ him?

Damian clenched his fists and pressed his back against the steel doors. He was not backpedaling on his plan. 

"I was just looking for Richard."

Alfred tilted his almost thoughtfully, but there was an eeriness to the way his eyes remained glued on Damian. It was like he was pulling apart the layers of Damian's thoughts and inspecting every little secret, every little scheme. 

"I believe Master Richard is in the kitchen," Alfred said. "He wanted to have dinner with you in privacy. It's been quite some time since you last visited us." 

"Things were busy," Damian said quickly. "I couldn't afford to come when I wanted to." 

Alfred brought gloved fingers to tap his chin in a methodical manner. 

"I suppose that's understandable. Follow me," Alfred said, spinning on his heel. "And do not fret about the books, I'll tend to them later." 

"No."

Alfred stopped. He slowly turned around to give Damian the most probing stare. Dark irises sunk into him, it was piercing. A prickling feeling blossomed over his body.

"I...left something down there, in the training room last time I visited. I want to retrieve it." 

Alfred stared almost boredly, as though he was unconvinced and uninterested by Damian's tale. 

"Whatever it is, I can procure it for you. Master Richard desperately wishes to see you, he's missed you quite dearly." 

"I'd rather fetch it myself."

"There's no reason to do that when you have a butler at your beck and call, Master Damian." 

"There are things I can do myself just fine."

There was a pause, a long stretch of silence enveloped them. Damian was tempted to just turn around and lock himself in the cave, but he needed the butler to leave. He also needed the butler to not alert the others of his presence, and considering that made this interaction all the more sticky. 

Damian was startled when he heard a bitter chuckle. It seemed like whatever facade the butler had presented was starting to melt away. 

"I see the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Uncomfortable silence morphed into tension. Damian felt on edge, felt muscles tightened at the uncertainty of the situation. 

"You and her are more alike than Richard wishes to believe," Alfred said quietly. "It was only a matter of time before you too would betray us."

"I have no idea what you are on about." 

Alfred continued, "Though unlike you, she was far more cunning. Far more _deceptive._ Or perhaps...it was our desperation that made us blind to her manipulative nature."

The butler took a few measured steps forward, decreasing the space between him and Damian. Damian could sense the threat in his deliberate movements.

"But we learn from our mistakes, Master Damian. Never will we be made the fools again." 

It was like a switch was flipped. Damian cried out in shock as a fist suddenly kissed his diaphragm, he folded over in response. He felt the weight of an elbow slam into his nape mercilessly. Damian gritted his teeth and dropped forward on his hands and knees. 

"Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice..." Alfred brought a swift kick to the underside of Damian's ribs.

Damian collapsed on his side and swiped a leg underneath the butler. Alfred fell on his back with a heavy thud and Damian wasted no time scrambling over him to rain a series of quick punches. Alfred, however, used his weight to roll them over and pin Damian down. A pair of claw-like hands slithered around Damian's neck, squeezing viciously.

"This infatuation ends _now_ ," Alfred hissed. "I could care less for Richard's wrath. I will not allow you or any of her other spawns to lock me away in this hell again."

The pressure around his neck tightened, it was like breathing through a straw. Damian saw black spots and felt his eyes begin to water. With a shred of clarity, he slipped expert hands around the elderly man's wrist, sharply squeezing down on the tiny pressure points hidden just below the muscles of the the thumb. He heard an angry gasp and felt the tension around his neck relieved. Alfred collapsed on top of him, unconscious.

He pushed the old man's body away carelessly. The room danced as he tried the stand up steadily, his legs felt like jello. If being nearly killed by an alternate version of his butler wasn't a sign that something was amiss, then he did't know what was.

With all his bearings gathered, Damian marched toward the steel doors and pulled them wide open. He bounded down the steps quickly and ran straight for the batcomputer. He's never gone through any of the files or monitors, he was always under the impression that they were merely props to make him feel more at home, more comfortable. If there was a chance that the technology in the batcave actually harbored _legitimate_ information, he needed to take advantage it.

He came to a stop in front of the monitors and hit several keys on the keyboard. The screen lit up red, obnoxiously alerting Damian's lack of access. He tried again, but to no success. He attempted to override the system manually, but surprisingly the _motherboard_ locked him out before his third attempt. Damian just stared in stunned silence.

"What the hell?" he murmured. Bruce, his _real_ father was known to be the epitome of paranoia. Bruce was routine in changing passwords and rewriting the system of almost all his devices. But this...there was no good reason to do that _here_. This was supposed to be an _ideal_ reality. And with that considered, what exactly was the use of even having a passwords in an alternate reality? _What did they have to hide?_

Damian took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. All the files, the _useful_ ones, would be gathered in the bat-computer. 

He scrutinized the obscenely large circulation desk. There had to be something, physical files, hard drives, _something_. 

Damian peered around the cave and wandered briskly. He walked past the glass encased suits, inspected the batmobile and motorcycles, the infirmary area, he checked just about anywhere that could hold a piece of evidence. 

Damian checked the training area last. He stared at the training mat, blushing at the unwarranted memory of him and Richard being...intimate.

He shook his head. Careful eyes scrutinized the wall of weapons, the stack of training dummies pushed to the corner, the towels folded neatly on the bench. Nothing.

He decided to scan the cave a second time. Upon walking away, a glint caught his eye, it shined underneath the bench with folded towels. He caught a reflection of himself bouncing off the tip of a strange object. He walked towards it, kneeling down to get a good look.

It was a throwing knife.

It had been forgotten. It looked worn anyways, the edge was not as clean as it should be, but it’s appearance was damning because it looked like the one that pierced Dick's leg.

It looked like the one Talon had thrown at Nightwing.

Damian’s chest constricted. His fear was confirmed and...it hurt.

Damian pushed himself up. He needed to go to the attic.

He walked out of the training room and into the open area of the cave. The bat-computer's monitor was still a blaring red. As he walked up toward the keyboard to shut it off, he heard a voice bounce off the walls. 

"I hope you found what you were looking for."

Damian's hand hovered over the keyboard. He turned around to see Richard sitting on the bottom of the stairs, hunched over with his face pressed against his hand. Damian's eyes traveled up to see the alternate versions of Bruce, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Cassandra randomly perched on the steps. They all had that disturbing quietness about them that made his skin crawl. 

"So, just to clarify," Richard started lightly. "Were you the one who knocked out the old bastard? I'm not really mad about it or anything, but seriously munchkin? Now who's gonna clean up that mess in the study?" 

"All this time you were lying to me."

"I never lied to you about anything," Richard said, suddenly springing to his feet. He crossed the space between them, cornering Damian against the circulation desk.

"It's called selective truth," Richard said. "Not telling you isn't necessarily a lie." 

"Whatever the hell you call it, it's deceitful!" Damian snapped. He attempted to push Richard aside and storm away, but he felt a vice-like grip suddenly claim his upper arm. Richard promptly pulled him back into the tight space between the desk and his body. 

Richard started patiently, “My intentions were never to upset you, but I needed to keep you in the dark for the sake of the court. I couldn’t afford to have another slip up, I couldn’t afford for you to leave us to rot the way she did.” 

“What court? Is it the reason you’re trying to kill my _father_?” Damian hissed. 

“Why are you even explaining anything to him?” Jason’s voice echoed from the stairs. “Cut your losses and kill him.” 

Stephanie chimed in, “He’s right. We’ve got more than enough exposure, we don’t need him anymore.” 

 _“Shut up_ ,” Richard snapped at them. He directed his attention back to Damian. 

“To answer your question, the court has nothing to do with killing your father,” Richard smiled darkly. “That’s merely paying retribution for a wrong.” 

“Insanity,” Damian said. He drew his fist back and snapped it forward, aiming for Richard’s mouth. His fist stopped inches away from Richard’s face, enveloped in a deathly grip. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you are pushing my buttons.” 

“Whatever, _Talon_ ,” Damian said bitingly.

Richard didn’t seem to care much for hearing his alias. And to Damian’s reluctant hurt, he didn’t care much to deny it either. 

Damian tried to lean back as Richard leaned forward, warm breath fanning across his cheek. Damian felt soft lips brush the corner of his mouth. 

“My affection isn’t a lie. I want you to see things my way, maybe not now, but you will someday.” 

“So you’re not going to kill me then?” Damian snorted bitterly. “I’m the exception?” 

“No,” Richard said calmly as his hand snaked past Damian’s fist and to his wrist, he squeezed a pressure point. Damian immediately saw tunnel vision and felt cotton in his ears. 

“Martha was too,” he heard Richard say before blacking out. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Green eyes stared back at him. 

Damian jolted out of his futon, frightening Titus. He stumbled back, tangling his legs in the blanket and falling on his ass. It took him a few seconds to realize that it had been a partial reflection of his face. 

He kicked the blanket off and gaped at the piece of glass placed on his pillow, that was resting just inches away from his face. 

It was a mirror shard. 

Dread seeped into his stomach. He grabbed for his katana and stomped toward the door, kicking it open and scanning the corridor. 

Tim and Jason were standing a few feet away, both startled and perplexed at Damian’s disheveled and tense state. Damian stared at their eyes, relaxing a little bit when he saw two different variants of blue instead of ink black. 

“What the hell?” Jason exclaimed. “Damn near gave me heart attack. What’s wrong with you?” 

“What’re doing with your katana?” Tim asked carefully, eyeballing the glinting blade. Damian glared at him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said curtly. He spedwalk the opposite direction, toward the attic. He could hear them mumbling to each other about demon spawns. 

Damian felt the trepidation as he twisted and turned down the hallway. He stopped under the attic entryway, yanking the black cord and forcing open the swinging door latch. The ladder barely touched the ground before he grabbed the handles and climbed up, the handle of his katana tucked under his armpit. 

He didn't bother pulling the ladder back. Leaping onto his feet with his sword drawn, he flicked the light switch on. He inhaled sharply through his nose at the sight. 

Martha's mirror, probably the most magnificent thing in the entire Wayne mansion, was laying gracelessly on the floor. The wooden carving of the hand which held the golden plaque of her initials was broken, it laid strewn just a few feet away with missing fingers. Bits and pieces of the framework was chipped and destroyed. But that wasn't what caught Damian's attention. 

The surface of the mirror had been completely shattered.

There were mirror shards everywhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter was...a lot. I hope the info dump wasn’t like crazy for guys, I still want to keep some things in the dark for the next chapter.
> 
> Lol, I had to laugh at myself in the end because it felt so corny with the title and everything.


	8. Tracing Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I'm sorry this took forever to get out, I got a plate load of work, so my apologies. Anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

_"...thanks, Vickie. In breaking news, reports to the GCPD have confirmed the bodies of Arthur Stroy and his brother, Matthew Stroy. Commonly known as the ‘Stroy Boys’, they were the twin sons of widowed COO, Rebecca Stroy. Just three weeks earlier they went missing along with nine other socialites. In the midst of all this tragedy, the family has demanded funeral services be postponed for further investigation._ _Commissioner Gordon has yet to make a statement. Back to you Vickie."_

_"Thanks, Jim. In other news, a union of offenders calling themselves the ‘Court of Owls’ has made recent strides in the whereabouts of Gotham, leaving many frightened and injured. Some suspect they may be linked to the grisly deaths of the Stroys..."_

Bruce clicked the button on the keyboard. The screen went black. 

Bitter silence plunged the cave. Damian sat rigidly on the infirmary bed next to a grim Alfred. Pondering, he stared down at his boots swaying inches from the ground. Despite the stiffness spreading underneath the skin of his legs, he couldn't find it in himself to budge. 

This was all his fault. 

He should've broke the damn mirror when he had the chance. He should've smashed the entire frame into careless tiny pieces until the soles of his feet ached. Drilled instincts told him ample of the potential danger he willingly encountered. He should've swallowed his hurt and drew the line from the very beginning. 

His eyes trailed toward his father. Bruce was hunched forward before the massive batcomputer with his back turned. Damian could see the ire in the tension of his shoulders. 

He should just tell his father the truth. 

Bruce had grown noticeably aggravated with his lack of leads over the past three weeks. With each new missing individual plucked from Gotham's aristocratic circle, Bruce scoured every corner of the city with infuriating rigor. The evidence he was able to retrieve was vague, and while the Court of Owls blossomed in reputation, their goals were still obscure in the criminal underworld. 

Bruce would be furious. Damian could imagine the blood rushing to his features and the intrusion of veins along his temples. Learning that his son kept such a secret would warrant thunderous wrath and considerable distrust. But, it would help his father in the long run. The truth would not answer all of his concerns, but it would give him an idea of what he was dealing with. 

Damian was tempted to swallow his pride and come clean. He would've done it, if not to settle this madness. But his throat ceased in on itself. 

Dick was in the cave. 

Just a few feet away from Bruce, he permeated a sense of apprehension and shared frustration. His leg had completely healed, and now he swayed back and forth, glaring at the ground. 

The truth wasn't the truth unless he exposed himself. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to share the implications of his ties to Richard, wasn't ready to share the nature of their relationship. Damian could cherry pick details to his father and it may be enough that the detective would accept it, but Dick...Dick would know. After the constant tension, the strain of working together, the unsaid awkwardness. He would put the pieces together and _know_. So, Damian held his tongue. 

He heard his father sigh almost tiredly. Bruce finally turned toward him and Alfred, bags under his eyes and his jaw ticking. 

"Eleven people in three weeks. Two of which are already dead," he said darkly. "We need to reexamine the scene where they were found." 

"Oh, bullshit," Jason snapped harshly behind Damian. "We all know who did it. Let's just go after those fuckers." 

"We can't just _go after them_ ," Bruce said deliberately. "We have nothing on these people. They leave _nothing_ , we don't know their base of operation. We don't even have a motive."

Jason sighed exasperatedly, "That bastard wants you dead. He wasn't shy about it when he ambushed Robin and Nightwing. I think that's motive enough." 

"No, it isn't. He has yet to confront Batman or Bruce Wayne, and the only people in this cave who have actually _seen_ Talon in person are Robin and Nightwing. He has had plenty of opportunities to seek me out. There's more to this, and we need to go about it rationally." 

Jason said nothing else, but Damian could practically feel his desire to say something. A little voice in Damian's head told him to just do it, just say it. Bruce would be angry, yes, but he would have something to work with, things would be so much clearer if he knew that they were up against versions of themselves. 

Damian was so lost in thought, he didn't realize the distress that must've marred his face. 

"Is something wrong?" Bruce asked suddenly. Damian jolted, he could feel all eyes on him. Dick's eyes were on him. 

"No," he said tersely. 

Of course, Bruce was not convinced. The contemplative stare Damian was receiving said as much, and his default disdain was not helping him in the slightest. There was a shift in his father's expression but it quickly disappeared, as though whatever he was thinking was nugatory. 

"I need everyone stationed in certain parts of the city," Bruce said, dropping the subject. "We need to close the areas where the victims were last seen. Patrol will be controlled from this point on, _no one_ goes awol. Understood?" Bruce said, eyeing Damian. 

"Barbara and I will be covering City Hall district," Bruce continued. "Tim and Cassandra will be stationed downtown. Huntress has agreed to patrol the South Complex with Stephanie. And as for the rest of you, I expect you to have Miller Harbor covered." 

This was serious, Damian should've been serious. But he couldn't help the trickle of annoyance and anxiety at having to patrol with Dick. And on top of that, Jason as well. 

Jason sucked his teeth loudly and marched toward his motorcycle. 

"Well, let's get a move on, then." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damian flicked a pebble across the dark inky surface of the water. The only telltale of movement was the slight distortion of the jarring reflection of the moon, a garish white circle against the black of the river. He ran his hands along the area of the dock, searching for more pebbles. He'd been perched at the end of the dock for roughly ten minutes or so, contemplating his past actions. And also, trying to distance himself from Dick and Jason's foolish bickering. 

"S _eriously?_  Jason, just listen for one goddamn minute—"

"Eat my ass, golden boy."

Damian felt his eyebrow twitch. They'd been going back and forth long before arriving at their station, and it continued on the marshy soil of the harbor. The stupid arguing was almost reminiscent of the heated quarrels between Bruce and Talia. It annoyed him to no end. 

"Bruce said no one is to go off on their own. We have to stick to this area and we have to stick together," Dick said, frustrated.

Jason responded severely, "Look, if you wanna play along with daddybats, that's on you. But I'm not obligated to do shit for him. Sitting around and investigating the same area over and over again has been shit luck since the Stroy brothers were kidnapped. We should be talking to people, getting connections."

"Wha—how exactly? No one knows anything about them. And those who do know are too scared to come forward."

"Then we _interrogate,_ fuck knuckle," Jason exclaimed. "Do you know that Talon and that big bastard Owlman have cut deals with Black mask and _Falconé_? They aren't dicking around, so why should we?"

Like a sixth sense, Damian could feel Dick's aggravation without glancing back. But knowing Jason, he would not be deterred. 

"I'm sticking with Bruce on this,” Dick finally said. “We need to keep a cool lid. I get what you're saying, _I do_ , but the best move right now is to stay on board with the plan and putting a little faith in Bruce."

Damian heard Jason scoffed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the obnoxious red helmet growing smaller as Jason stormed away. Damian rolled his eyes. He would come back eventually. 

Damian turned back toward the river. Heavy footsteps reached his ears as he stared at the water. He closed his eyes when the shuffle of boots moved beside him and the smell of kevlar invaded his senses. Damian opened his eyes. Dick was sitting next to him, feet swinging over the edge. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Damian felt his face sour at the question. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem like it,” Dick said. “You’ve been pretty...antsy lately.” 

“Tt. I’m fine.” 

The lie felt thick on his tongue. Three weeks and the Court of Owls were growing in reputation and in threat. He was anticipating the moment when they would finally direct their attention to Batman. What exactly was it that they wanted from his father?

“Look...” Dick started. “I just wanted to say that...I’m sorry.” 

Damian glanced up at him curiously. 

“When I brought Zatanna to the manor, it was...to give you a push in the right direction,” Dick explained gingerly. “I wanted you to move on. I didn't really know any other option that would be as blunt as that. I mean, now I get that it wasn't the sharpest move. I just—I dunno, I panicked and handled it all wrong, and...I ended up hurting both of you in the process."

"So you two aren't actually together?" Damian asked, ignoring the pitiful glimmer of hope blossoming in his chest.

Dick frowned. "No, not anymore. But that's not the point."

"I get the point," Damian cut harshly. "But it wasn't needed. Your rejection was indicator enough. I didn't need your little _push_."

"Okay, okay...I just want to say I'm sorry, though. And I want us to be on talking terms again." 

"Tt. We are talking." 

"Okay, but like, normal."

"Define normal. With the work we do, I hardly imagine us to be talking about the weather." 

Dick smiled warmly, dimples denting his cheeks. It made Damian's heart bounce off the walls of his chest. 

"Like that," he said. "The little banters. Except, you know, more clever." 

"Tt. Whatever," Damian said, a little more relaxed. Maybe...maybe it would work. He missed this, bonding and just being in each other's presence. From this point it wouldn't be the same, couldn't really. But it was a start, at least. 

It was quiet for a long stretch of time. The obnoxious sound of frogs chirping filled Damian's ears. 

"So...who is he?" 

Damian glanced at Dick in confusion. The older man looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands and refusing eye contact with Damian. 

"What are talking about?" Damian asked bluntly. 

Dick appeared to consider his words, eyebrows scrunching together in deep thought. 

"When we ran into Talon," he started. "You had a bruise on your neck—"

"It was nothing," Damian said curtly. Why was he bringing this up?

Dick paused for a second, then continued. 

"I know a hickey when I see one."

"Of course _you_ do," Damian said. "Why does it matter?"

"I—" Dick started clumsily. "I mean, you got it from _someone—_ "

He sighed dramatically. He foresaw an argument, just when they were on the cusp of trying to put certain things behind them. 

Damian responded irritably, "Yes. Someone unimportant to you."

"Will you ever introduce him...or her? To the rest of us, Bruce and Alfred and everyone else, I mean." 

Damian curled his lips. "No. It doesn't matter anymore."

More silence. Damian was anticipating more questions. Dick never stopped at just a handful, this was usually his way of leading into a sensitive topic. 

"I just want to know...were you with that person to cope?"

 _Yes_. 

"It's none of your business," Damian responded defensively. 

"Damian—"

"And it's interesting that you insist on moving on but continue to dwell in the past," Damian said as he pushed himself to his feet. He marched off the dock briskly, ignoring the way the sand clung to the bottom of his boots. He heard Dick rushing behind him. 

"Damian," Dick began. "I didn't mean—"

"I don't care," Damian snapped. "And where the hell is Todd?" 

He peered around. Jason's motorcycle had been parked uphill near the walkway. It was still present, no scratches or scrapes. If Jason had decided he had enough of Bruce's methods, he would've at least taken his bike. He stopped midway uphill. Something wasn't right. 

Dick caught up to him, fingers grazing his shoulder. Damian brushed them off. 

"Where is Red Hood?" Damian said, suddenly alerted. Dick halted his movements, just as well scanning the area. 

He walked past Damian to inspect the motorcycle, fingers brushing over his ear piece. Damian heard the static of the comm link coming to life in his ear. Dick's concerned voice splitted his thoughts. 

"Hood, are you still there?" he asked sharply. He was met with silence. Tensing, Dick reached over his head for his escrima sticks. 

Damian briefly noticed odd movement out of the corner of his eye. White masks with slit eyes seemed to dance in the darkness, but his trained sight captured the human forms donned in black. The glint of blades in their fists shocked adrenaline into his blood stream.

"Nightwing!" he shouted, drawing his shurikens. The two figures started to sprint forward, moving with deadly speed. Dick snapped into action, projecting several shurikens with a great deal of force. Both figures however avoided the barrage almost seamlessly. Peering through the darkness, Damian recognized them as Strix and Gray Claw. They belonged to the Court of Owls, and they were likely the alternate versions of Tim and Jason. 

Dick swore under his breath. He started to move toward Damian, but suddenly his body seized. Damian stared in confused horror as Dick suddenly slammed into the ground like a sack of dead meat. He caught the glint of an object sticking outside of Dick's neck, just below the crook of his jaw. It was a needle. 

Damian felt a pinch in his neck. His vision started to sway slightly as his gloved fingers brushed his neck, gritting his teeth as the needle bounced off his shoulder and fell on the ground. He watched bitterly as it rolled away, black and purple spots decorating his sight. 

"Easy target," Strix said. Damian's ears felt thick, his blood ran cold. The muscles in his legs felt foreign and his insides were on fire. He was powerless as everything simply _gave_ , body rushing toward the ground. 

Damian's teeth cut deeply into his bottom lip as his face smacked into the ground. His limbs laid numb and careless around his form. He blinked hard, trying miserably to will away the familiar tunnel vision. It was pointless, his body was already surrendering. 

He felt the rush of hands over his body before everything started to sink into blackness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, I feel like I need to apologize for my usage of italics, I've been abusing it like crazy.
> 
> p.s  
> So...I lied about it being 9 chapters. Felt like I needed to add one more, so yea. Crucify me lol.


	9. Fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're getting there. Long ass chapter for you guys. I took some 'creative liberation' with the whole Court of Owls motive, hope that doesn't bother anyone too much. Anyways, enjoy!

Consciousness glowed in his body like the faint sign of lights behind his eyelids. 

Damian stirred, wincing at the sharp twinge in his neck. He grew more alert as the incessant ringing in his eardrums claimed his attention. Opening his eyes, he was met with the swirling patterns of hardwood in the ceiling. 

_Where the hell am I?_

He attempted to sit up, slowly realizing that his ankles and wrists were bounded. He tested the tightness, recoiling from the harsh fiber of rope. Whoever tied him up was very diligent in their endeavors. 

A blaring honk from below him startled his nerves. Albeit painful, he craned his neck and twisted his body around, widening his eyes in panic. 

The entire skyline of Gotham City was in plain view. 

From a couple hundred feet, cars moved below him in a blur. Dozens of buildings glowed against the night sky, the police airships floated leisurely above the city. Damian recognized the area to be downtown. 

Peering around, he realized he had been left in some sort of construction building, the skeletal structure of the ceiling and walls indicated as much. And whoever left him here wasn't the least bit concerned about him accidentally rolling off the foundation and decorating the sidewalk below. 

"...I was wondering when you'd wake up." 

Damian gritted his teeth and turned around almost expectantly. Talon, in all his dark garb, was standing a few feet away. He was casually leaning against a pillar, tossing and catching a throwing knife in a routine fashion. Damian itched to get his hands on him. 

"You were passed out for a solid two hours, which was just peachy for me," Richard stated, almost boredly. "It gave me more than enough time to leave some false trails, but I'm sure it won't hold off Batman for too long—"

"Where the hell is Nightwing? What did you do to Red Hood?" Damian cut abruptly. 

Richard paused, catching the throwing knife. A moment passes in which he stares Damian down through his blue goggles before sighing under the black veil. He continued with his mundane throwing and catching activity. Damian was growing livid. 

"I was getting to that, babe."

Damian tested the rope behind his back again, hoping for any sign of give, a loose knot, _something_. He was growing anxious with the desire to attack Talon where he stood.

"Strix and Gray Claw ditched them at the Miller Harbor," he finally said. "I didn't need them, or want them for that matter. They aren't hurt, which I'm sure you were dying to know."

Damian snapped, "Then what do you _want?_ " 

Whatever inkling of trust he had in Richard was long gone, he couldn't take his word about Dick or Jason. The eleven missing people flooding the news outlets suddenly appeared in Damian's head, and he grew fretful at the potential of Dick or Jason becoming one of them.

A sharp breeze brushed his temple before the sound of a thud reached his ears. Damian turned his head to see Richard's knife embedded in the floor just a few inches away from his head.  

"I just want to talk, that's all," he said. "I just need an answer from you, I promise I won't keep you for much longer."

"Then _talk_. Say your piece and let me go," Damian hissed. 

More silence, it was driving Damian mad. Richard abandoned his spot against the pillar and sauntered toward him. Heavy boots stopped beside Damian's head as he swiftly knelt down. He assumed a criss-cross position, leaning over Damian's face. 

"I want you to join me." 

Damian's face twisted in confusion.

"I want you by my side," he continued. "The Court of Owls is growing with followers. You have discipline and passion, all of which can be used to train our newbies. We need that in our line of work."

"What the hell—are you recruiting people? Is that why half of Gotham is going missing?" 

Richard snorted under his veil, "Yes and no, sweetness. We find people who are worthy of the Court, and dispose of those who pollute the streets. The Stroy family wasn't as innocent as the news made them out to be, just ask Falconé." 

"Batman will stop you," Damian seethed. "You would've been better off trapped in the mirror because you'll be spending the rest of your miserable days in Blackgate." 

"And that's where you're wrong," Richard responded promptly. He reached behind his head to unsnap the buckle of his goggles, letting it fall in his lap. Richard's dark eyes were now visible through the narrow slit of his veil, and they pierced Damian. 

Richard said quietly, "It's been damn near a month, and your father has not even came _close_ to catching me. How can someone like that possibly clean up the streets, hm? All the monsters walking in and out of Arkham like a rotating door, criminal organizations controlling this city, he can't handle it. He couldn't even catch me long before I brought the others into this reality. Seriously Damian, don't make me laugh."

"I'd like to see you do a better job," Damian said derisively. He felt insulted on his father's behalf, but a small part of him coincided with Richard's claim. The past three weeks have proven to be difficult for even the world's greatest detective. 

"I can and I will," Richard replied. "And I want you by my side, Damian. You could easily take Strix's place, you'd be such a perfect partner. You could command our students with such power; you would be so perfect." 

There was a note of genuineness in Richard's voice that Damian couldn't have imagined, it threw him off. 

"Since when," Damian started. "Since when did this whole vigilante crusade come into play? You never even expressed interest in that kind of thing before. Why do you suddenly care now?"

"We all need a purpose, munchkin. You gave me a purpose when you entered the mirror," Richard said. "I still need an answer from you."

"Absolutely not," Damian said sharply. "I have no interest in your path of terror. And I haven't forgotten about your little bit about _killing my father."_

Richard stared at him for a long time, not saying anything. The silence he emitted was almost teasing. Even underneath the veil, Damian saw the light crinkles appearing around his eyes. He was smirking.

Anxiety prickled Damian's brain as Richard became invasive, leaning inches from his face. Damian served him an icy stare when he felt fingers combing through his hair. 

"Do you want to know something interesting about the mirror?" he asked. "It has this _awful_ habit of never forgetting the past. Memories pile on top of older memories, and those who are born from the mirror, such as myself, are burdened with those memories, good and bad." 

Richard sat back and hook his hands under Damian's armpits. Protests fell on deaf ears as he dragged Damian towards him, head resting in his lap. Damian didn't hold back on the slew of obscenities as Richard continued to touch his hair. 

"Your grandparents had marital problems," Richard chirped lightly over Damian's insults. 

Damian stopped and blinked, ignoring his predicament. 

"...what the actual _hell_ does that have to do with anything—"

"Context, babe. It's all about the context," Richard interrupted. "Martha was sort of in the same boat as you. Ol' Thomas was a bona fide workaholic and he _always_ brought his work home with him. You can empathize with your grandmother when I say that she was extremely neglected. Their marriage was pretty superficial, despite what your old man would like to think."

"If this is your way of trying to derail the situation, you can go straight to hell—"

Richard sighed, " _Context._ You want an answer, don't you? Let me finish."

Damian reluctantly bit his tongue. Richard was going to fill his head with nonsense whether he liked it or not, and he wasn't in a position to challenge him anyways.

"Anyways," Richard continued. "Their marriage was pretty shit. And this was all before Bruce was born, so I don't really know what happened after they spawned your dad. But, I know that she was miserable and looking for an out. Do you wanna take a guess on what the 'out' was?"

Richard waited expectantly. Damian's lip curled. He was annoyed by the mind games.

"The goddamn mirror—"

"The mirror!" Richard exclaimed vibrantly, snapping his fingers. "Yep. You're one smart cookie. She found out what it could do and long story short, she finally had the Thomas Wayne she always wanted. But—and this is a big spoiler—that didn't last at all."

Damian glowered at the condescension in his voice, but said nothing. 

"The 'other' Thomas fell for her," Richard said bitterly. "He tried to convince her to stay in the mirror... _permanently_. Obviously, she wasn't too keen on the idea. Instead of being happy with the little scraps he got from her, he thought it would be just dandy to enter her reality and try to replace the _real_ Thomas."

There was nothing but prolonged silence between them. Damian waited for him to continue.

"Needless to say, Martha caught on," Richard said. "She conspired against him and lured him back into the mirror. She didn't hesitate to gift him a nice crack on the surface. I think...I think she banged the back of the frame with her hairbrush. Can't really recall, I just know from that point on he was trapped until the next person entered."

Damian's nose scrunched up in confusion. "I didn't see a crack when I went to the attic."

"Of, course you didn't, silly," he sighed. "The crack healed like a wound. That mirror wasn't just some virtual reality toy, it was an entity of it's own. It lived and thrived off of human essence, and in return produces the very desires of it's recipient. In your case, Richard Grayson."

Damian stared at Richard in utter disbelief. 

"It was _feeding_ off of me?"

"Well—yeah, technically, if you want to put it that way. Your memories, knowledge, anything. Everytime you set foot inside of it, you were giving it a piece of yourself. And since I am a product of the mirror, well...how else would I exist? Or know about the poor condition of your Gotham?"

Puzzle pieces were coming together. At this point, Damian didn't need to be spoon fed the clues, Richard's tale was implicit. The situation became crystal clear.

"You want to kill my father because of some misplaced hate you have for my grandmother," Damian said bluntly.

"There needs to be some sort of retribution," Richard said, glossing over Damian's statement. "Thomas's despair and imprisonment is shared with _my_ memories now, shared with the _court_ , all of us. If she were still here today...I would've gladly killed her."

"I won't join you," Damian said with finality. "You want my father dead and your possé have been terrorizing the streets. Not a good pitch, _Richard_."

Fingers stopped combing his hair and slithered around his throat. The way his hand curled over Damian's airway felt menacing, like a silent threat.

"I care about you Damian, and I want to be your ally," he said. "But I can be your enemy, too. You don't want to make an enemy out of me."

Damian replied coldly, "Well, it seems I don't have much of a choice. You were a damn fool to even hope I would consider siding with your madness." 

Richard's lap disappeared and Damian's head smacked resoundingly against the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed at the searing pain, barely noticing the sudden tug of rope around his ankles. He cracked his eyes open to see Richard kneeling by his feet, cutting through the binds with a knife. 

"What a pity. I wanted to talk and give you chance, and so I did," he grunted, tossing away pieces of rope. "After tonight though, we're enemies. Don't expect any kindness in the future."

"Noted," Damian murmured. His chest felt a little constricted and his throat dry. He knew he made the right call, but he couldn't help the sting of hurt claiming his thoughts.

His ankles were free, he twisted his feet around to circulate the blood flow. However, Richard didn't move to undo the rope binding his wrists. Instead, Damian heard the sharp clang of the knife falling and felt his body being dragged across the floor. He came to a stop when his hips were flush against Richard's. Damian blushed. 

"What do you think you're—"

Richard's hand snaked to his utility belt, unbuckling it. Blushing even harder, he attempted to scoot away. Richard simply grasped his hips and hauled him back. 

"I don't think I'll ever have this opportunity again, since we're enemies and all that jazz," he said, yanking down Damian's pants and briefs, letting them bunch around his thighs. 

This night was just getting worse by the minute. He was exposed and still bounded, and the close proximity of the police airships were making him incredibly nervous. Robin did _not_ need that kind of news coverage. 

Thumbs slowly started to knead his inner thighs, and the sweet sensation traveled directly to his cock. A breathy moan escaped his lips before he could stop it. Encouraged by that, Richard moved his fingers upwards, teasingly brushing Damian's length. 

"You're so cute when you get like this," Richard breathed. "I'm going to miss that about you."

He was barely stimulated and yet he was trembling. Damian wanted to snap at him, kick him, get him to stop, but lust riddled his mind. He loved Richard's touch. 

The kneading left his thighs. Richard used one hand to squeeze and lightly stroke Damian's length all the while using the other to fondle his sac, deeply massaging. Damian felt himself growing stiff underneath the ministrations, he squirmed and shivered. Richard hovered over him, chuckling deeply. 

"It really doesn't take much to get you going," he said, squeezing his cock playfully. 

Damian immediately became flustered, _"Shut up."_  

Richard's dark eyes grew amused as he let out another shameless chuckle. He started to stroke Damian properly, pulling light moans and gasps from him. That familiar heat pooled in his groin and made his legs quake. His body grew flush under the restrictive garments of his suit, his nipples felt sensitive against the harsh cloth of his vest. Damian wanted to be free from his restraints so he could stroke himself to completion.

He felt the warm slide of pre-cum against his cock, glancing down he could see that he was practically coated in it. But he loved that, loved the feeling of being wet and touched and _teased_ , Richard made him feel so _so_ good. 

Thoughts became fuzzy, all he could focus on was the hot tingle between his legs. Richard slid his hand over the tip and teased the slit with his thumb. Damian cried out in response, his head lolling to the side. Richard didn't let up, rubbing and sliding against the wet slit. Damian wanted more. 

All at once, Richard's hands released him. Instantly disappointed, Damian groaned and brought his legs up in an attempt to rub his thighs together, to reignite that delicious sensation in his cock. It was a flimsy effort as his length just rested on his belly, and it was clearly an amusing sight for Richard. 

"You're so fucking precious, so sweet," he said as he rolled Damian onto his side. He squeezed and grabbed the soft flesh of his ass, spreading apart his cheeks. Damian's arousal didn't stop the onslaught of embarrassment at Richard just _gazing_ at his hole. 

He hissed at the force of two wet digits pushing past the ring of muscle. It was painful, more painful than all the other times they've done this, a telltale sign of Richard's impatience. But it was still laced with pleasure, the rough thrusts against his prostate clutched his arousal. 

Minutes, maybe hours passed before another digit found it's way inside of Damian, then another, and then another. Damian wondered if Richard had thrown caution to the wind and decided to shoved his whole hand inside. It hurt, but it felt so _good_. 

Damian was shuddering violently, he could feel the ghost of an orgasm approaching. Richard stopped with his hands and worked to unbuckle his own utility belt. As soon as the belt came loose, his erection sprang free. He wasted no time shoving it inside of Damian's sore opening. 

"Your Dick Grayson is a better man than me, I don’t think I could ever resist you," he grunted. "I'd take you every single night, I'd stuff that pretty ass _every single night._ "

His thrusts were brisk, hips snapping against Damian's backside. Damian gave up on restraining his moans, his voice filling the silence and probably the whole damn construction area. The heat between his legs mounted without relent, and tingles danced along his spine. He was going to cum. 

Richard held his hips in a vice grip and started to pound into him, skin slapping. During all of this, he heard a light thud from afar. Damian raised his head to see where it came from, but all at once his orgasm seized him. Eyes rolled back as his body shivered through the forceful waves of pleasure. He sighed contentedly as he felt Richard spill inside of him, coating his walls. 

"God," Richard groaned as he pulled out, stuffing himself back inside his pants. Damian was dragged back into reality as he felt the crude trickle of essence traveling over his thigh, he was soiled and _still_ bounded. Richard had the decency to roll his undergarment and pants back over his hips, but it further emphasize what just conspired. Damian was red with shame and exhaustion.  

"You got what you wanted, now let me go," Damian demanded. It came out far breathier and softer than he wanted, he was still winded. 

Richard seemed to ignore him, staring off somewhere past his head. He rose to his feet, lazily rolling his shoulders and flexing his fists. Damian tiredly swiped a foot at his ankle, demanding his attention. 

"If you're done being an ass, I would like to be free now," Damian snapped, more forceful. 

Richard didn't pay him any mind whatsoever. He walked around Damian's body, his movements almost menacing. Damian saw Richard swiftly grabbed for one of the many knives decorating the belt across his chest, nonchalantly gripping it in his hand. 

"Did you enjoy that little show?" 

The question wasn't directed at Damian, but to someone else behind him. Chilled, Damian craned his neck back to see the intruder. His blood ran cold. 

No no no _no._

Dick was standing several feet away, escrima sticks glowing by his sides. His suit was slightly torn and scratched. His mask was ripped terribly, revealing one blue eye. A large purple bruise stretched across his cheek from the top of his ear to the corner of his mouth. But none of that is what garnered Damian's panic, it was the expression possessing his face. Dick looked _murderous_. 

He didn't speak a word before charging toward Talon.

Richard easily sidestepped him, swiping the knife across the plane of his back. A long cut found it's way in Dick's skin, but he didn't miss a beat. He twisted around and propelled a stark kick to Richard's side, causing him to stumble forward. Dick took advantage of that and brought an escrima stick to the back of Richard's skull viciously, disorienting him. Grabbing his shoulders, Dick kneed him roughly in the chest several times before Richard's hand darted out for Dick's stomach. Blood suddenly seeped out like a river and dripped on the floor. He had stabbed Dick. 

"Jealousy is a hell of a buzz killer, huh?" Richard laughed darkly, leaning toward his good side. 

Ignoring him, Dick dashed swiftly. He crouched toward the ground and slid across the floor, outstretching one leg and swiping it underneath Richard. Twirling backwards, Richard caught himself before falling. But Damian's heart jumped in his chest when Dick attempted to grab his face, accidentally ripping off the veil.

There was a brief pause. Damian squeezed his eyes shut and _prayed_  he'd disappear. 

A heavy creak. He didn't open his eyes, didn't want to see the absolute disbelief and horror on Dick's face. He heard a mocking chuckle. 

"This is fucking wild for you, isn't it?" Richard sneered. "This is just the cherry on top of my night." 

Damian clenched his teeth and opened his eyes. Richard was crouching by the edge of the foundation with knives ready in either hand, teeth bared in a bloody smile. Dick was frozen like a statue in a fighting position. Though his back was turned, Damian could feel the absolute bafflement. 

"Oh, man," Richard snorted. "And I _just_ got done fucking him. This is way too rich." 

Dick snapped out of his daze and ran for Richard with more energy, more rage. 

Smiling, Richard glanced at Damian with the nerve to blow a _kiss_. He back-flipped off the edge and into the night air. Damian heard the stunned cries and shouts of bystanders from below. Not even a second after descending outside the construction building, the faint sound of a grapple hook shooting off reached his ears. Richard was fleeing the scene. Dick didn't chase after him. 

Damian felt his heart race in his chest, heat like never before claimed his entire face. He was actually _shaking._  

Dick didn't look at him right away, still staring at the spot Richard had previously occupied on the edge. What was going through his mind? 

This was very much a fight or flight situation, and like a sorry coward, Damian favored the latter. If only Richard had the good sense, or the mercy, to undo the _damn rope around his wrists._  

Dick finally turned around. In response, Damian immediately looked away. Heavy footsteps drew near as Damian squeezed his eyes shut once again. Dick stopped right beside him, kneeling down and rolling him onto his side. Damian felt the tug against his wrists and was instantly grateful. 

The tension was gone and the throb of blood flow buzzed in his hands. He pushed himself in a sitting position, rolling his wrists. His back was turned toward Dick. 

There was a moment of nothing, just...nothing. Damian didn't move and Dick didn't speak, just irredeemable tension stifling the air, stifling their words. 

After a few beats, Dick finally spoke. 

"We need to get going, Batman and the others are all waiting up by the batsignal. I'll give you a moment to...get your bearings." 

It was quiet and blunt, all at once. He walked around Damian and disappeared in what appeared to be a door-less exit. Not once did he glance back at Damian. Somehow, that made this whole scenario even worse.

 

Damian was tempted to jump off the same edge as Richard. He wouldn't use a grapple hook. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad that we didn't get enough time with Richard. I hoped I solidified him as his own individual outside of Dick Grayson.  
> I know my explanation for the mirror and the court felt a bit...outlandish, it kinda always has been since the beginning. I felt annoyed because I wasn't sure how to explain it but i also felt like I was following "comic book logic" to the T and it was interesting. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it though, it got a little wild for me. :}
> 
> p.s  
> If anybody needs me to further explain anything, ask in the comments. This chapter was a little difficult for me to get through, so I'm not above clarifying anything for anybody.


	10. Shards Everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, REALLY want to apologize for this story being late, school got hectic and I had to put this on hold for a little bit. Anyways, here's the final chapter. Hope you guys like it. 
> 
> XXX  
> !!!READ NOTES AT THE END!!!  
> Enjoy. :)

"When I find that motherfucker—"

"Calm down—"

"Don't tell me what to do, Bruce." 

Fuming with silent rage, Jason prowled the cave like a caged animal. His face was painted in irritation and bruises from the conclusion of patrol. Mask discarded, the delicate skin around his left eye was purple and swollen, forcing the eyelids to close reluctantly. His bottom lip was bruised and split, revealing raw red tissue underneath. The most striking detail of Jason's horrid appearance was the trail of blood leaking from his nose to his suit. A fussy Alfred tried to persuade him to rest on the infirmary bed to be tended. In his sour state, Jason curtly dismissed him. 

"When I find him, I'm gonna blow off his goddamn kneecaps," Jason growled. 

Removing the cowl, Bruce sighed almost tiredly. Seated once again before the bat-computer, Barbara and Tim stood on either side of him. Several feet away, Cassandra and Stephanie leaned against the batmobile shoulder to shoulder as casual spectators. Standing rigidly beside his father's empty glass case, Damian stared down at his boots. His eyes traced the slight glare bouncing off the leather, fighting the prickling sensation on his nape. 

Dick was staring at him, had been staring for awhile. Damian knew he was somewhere behind him, perhaps sitting by the stairway leading up to the manor. It didn't matter though, he would try his damnedest to ignore him. Ignore and get through the night. 

"Jay," Barbara started calmly. "Just cool it, we'll get him. We've dealt with worse."

Jason scoffed and shook his head, haulting his movements.

"I wouldn't even be this heated if he'd fought me himself, he sent his _goons_ to ambush me. Couldn't even fucking take me on _himself,"_ Jason ranted.  

"Obviously," Tim said. "He was too busy kidnapping Robin and raising hell."

Under the draw of his father's sharp eye, Damian felt the immediate urge to sucker-punch him. _Shut up, Drake_.  

The matter only grew more intense as all the attention in the cave fell on him. Eyes burned into his face, his skin, his body. Damian felt transparent, felt _naked_. He was almost amazed at how the anxiety seemed to crawl and seize his insides like sharp claws. Despite being in more dire situations, performing more vile acts in the past, he was amazed at how weak he felt in this very moment. 

And the intensity of Dick's stare boring into his head was not helping one bit. 

"That's an isolated instance you've yet to explain, Damian," Bruce said sternly. 

Bruce was not going to ask nicely, and by the looks of it, Dick wasn't going to intervene either. Damian sensed the hints of an interrogation, he was familiar with the prodding. As a detective, the circumstances were not unique in the eyes of his father, but for Damian who was still reeling in from a rather complicated and...delicate situation, he truly wished Bruce had approached him in privacy. 

"He kidnapped me," Damian said, simply to fill the silence. Bruce glared harshly.

"We know that," he said. "What happened before Nightwing came?"

Mind drifting back to Richard, warmth started to pool into his face. Damian sharply bit the soft tissue inside his cheek, trying to combat the blush. 

"We're going to be here all night if you don't speak," Tim murmured irritably. Damian glowered at him icily. 

Avoiding Bruce's probing stare, Damian pondered. He wished he had more time to weigh his options, to weigh truth versus consequence. The mirror, his grandmother, _Talon_ , all of it would come dense with retribution. Bruce's trust would slink back almost instantaneously while flooding with anger and disappointment. He could predict a severe punishment riding the coat tails of his father's rage.

Yet...a selfish part of him held his tongue. Dick already knew half the truth. 

That was more than enough. 

"He wanted me to join the Court of Owls," Damian finally said. "They have some sort of...vendetta against the Waynes, against Martha in particular. Talon wasn't in-depth about the conflict, he only let on that the burden would be felt by you." 

Bruce's face was colored with heavy focus, drinking in Damian's half truths. It felt...grimy. 

Finally calming down from the heat of his ire, Jason's face soured. He took Damian in with a considerable stare. 

"Is that it?" Jason barked. "I got my ass kicked because he was trying to recruit? And why _you_ , exactly? You're a Wayne, the hell does he want with you, then?" 

Tapping his chin almost thoughtfully, Tim leaned back against the keyboard, pursing his lips.

"Well, it would make sense if you looked at it from a certain perspective," he said. "Getting the son of your supposed enemy to side with your cause could fill you on the ins and outs of defeating them. Damian would be an exceptional confidant in that sense. Hypothetically, it's not a _pointless_ effort."

If Damian wasn’t so stubborn, he would’ve admitted to himself his gratitude for Tim’s reasoning, unknowingly covering his ass. 

Reclining back with fingers steepled under his chin, Bruce's eyes drifted away in thought. He became slightly relaxed now that something was visibly occupying his father's mind. But he knew this ordeal wasn't over just yet, uncertainty still wafted in the air. After a moment of contemplating, his father continued.

"Was there anything else?" Bruce asked. "Anything at all that could give us a clue concerning their identities? Their motives?"

This was the question he had been anticipating, or something like it anyways. Dick had already had a first encounter with Talon, with _himself_. He couldn't craft a lie when Nightwing was a key witness to that incident. Of course, Damian could piece together _something_. 

"He—Talon—," Damian started, slightly flustered at recounting the altercation. "When Nightwing came to my rescue, he uncovered that Talon was a...clone. Of himself."

 _"What?_ " Jason and Tim barked in unison. The cave started to buzz to life, no longer fixated on Damian. 

"Whoa, whoa, wait a sec," Stephanie cut in. "A clone? So like, does that mean that the rest of them are...?" 

"—better fucking not! We do _not_ need that kind of problem right now," Jason snapped. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tim released a long exhale. That simple action seemed to age him several years. 

"If there's a clone of Dick running around, there's a good chance that the rest of them are likely clones of _us,"_ Tim said. 

"Well," Barbara sighed. "Then it makes sense why they're so damn slippery. They're playing us at our own game."

"Is that true?"

To his displeasure, Bruce looked beyond Damian's shoulder. The entire time the cave hummed with the crescendo of voices, Dick did not engage. He was mute throughout the hasty exchanges. 

Resisting the urge to glance back, to garner his reaction, Damian held his stare forward. His eyes became lost in the sharp ridges and overlays of the cave, tracing angles and twisted shadows. He bit his tongue. 

Damian knew Dick. He knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't give him away, that he wouldn't breath a word about what he had seen in the construction building. Despite his confusion, rage and perhaps...disgust, he wouldn't expose him like that. He wouldn't. 

A moment passed in which Bruce eyed Dick expectantly. Damian resisted the desire to draw up his shoulders in response to the ever mounting tension. 

"...his eyes were black."

Damian's shoulders drooped in relief. Rubbing his temples, Bruce finally stood up. 

"This isn't just petty cult crimes anymore," he said, firmly. "This is bigger. Not only are they a threat to Gotham, but a threat to our very identities. We need to find out who created them and why they sent them."

Closing his eyes, Damian grimaced internally.

 _Way_ _to feed the flames._

Sensing that the conversation was steering away from his accounts, Damian turned on his heel towards the stairway. Trailing several steps forward, his eyes accidentally glanced into Dick's for the first that night. 

He felt the immediate snap of attention inside of him like a rubber-band, the sort of trick his brain did to yank his focus. Steeling himself forward, he never slowed his feet, never paused his movements. He refused to convey any indication of hesitation, of weakness. But more importantly, he further avoided Dick's hardened gaze. 

As Damian marched up the stairs, his peripheral caught the older man's form twisting slightly as he brushed past him. 

The intensity of his stare would stain Damian's thoughts as he reached the steel doors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Think of me._

Wine red soiled the carpet in perfect spheres, hints of specks dusted his crisp white socks. 

Damian stared at his thumb slightly dazed. Blood pooled into a teardrop before trickling down his wrist and dripping onto the floor.

Days passed by in a sort of dreamlike haze. His thoughts felt fuzzy and fractured, like jagged edges that couldn't quite puzzle together. It was vexing, he struggled to think while not really thinking at all. Even during patrol, when his mind was usually the clearest, he knew he was merely going through the motions at the moment. 

All of that, however, cleared like smoke as he studied the curves and dips of ink over crinkled notebook paper. 

_Think of me._

He should've been annoyed, if not livid. The scratchy, rushed handwriting was barely legible. Dick's cursive would always grate his nerves, something Damian felt was just downright childish for a man of his age. 

He almost wished that irritation would make its routine appearance. It didn't. 

The letter did not belong to Dick. 

Damian smirked bitterly at the theatrics of it all, kneeling down to grab the piece of shard that had fallen from the envelope. It was smeared in his blood. 

He was finally beginning to understand the little nuances that differentiated Richard from... _Richard_. The man was a thespian. And as much as it was a pleasure to entertain the thought of him, it was double a threat to simply _have_ him. 

They were enemies now, yes?

Why was he sending Damian random letters with the damn _shards_ tucked in the envelopes?

Was he just fucking with him? 

This was the third one in the past two days, and it worried him. Not only did Richard like to leave vague letters with sharp objects, but he was inadvertently implying his easy access into the Wayne manor, into Damian's _room_. 

Damian balled up the letter and the envelope, tossing them into the fireplace. The flames danced higher as soot and heat ate the crumpled mass. 

He was up to three shards now, and had not a clue what to do with them. He toyed with the idea of walking Titus and inconspicuously burying them. Though he doubted he would get away with it for long since he usually walked Titus around the property, and Alfred did not have a careless eye when it came to the condition of the lawn. 

_Patrol. Toss them away later during patrol._

Marching over to his dresser, he opened the second drawer and tucked the shard underneath his clothes. All the pent up paranoia and aggravation nearly jumped out of his skin when three loud knocks reverberated his room. His hand twitched for his katana. 

"It's unlocked," Damian said coolly. 

His door creaked sharply, and a mop of shaggy black hair poked through. He sighed at the sight of deep blue eyes, somber with the creeping presence of bags. 

"Can I come in?" Dick asked lightly.

With a straight face, Damian shrugged nonchalantly. He would deny his loss of voice in that moment, his lost of nerve. 

Dick stepped in, clothes just as careless and slightly unkempt as his hair. Shutting the door behind himself, he pressed his back against it. He didn't budge from the spot, much to Damian's internal relief. 

A few seconds passed in which silence pervade the room. The crackle of the fireplace would cut through the tension every now and then as Dick and Damian stared at each other. After what felt like an eternity of playing the staring contest, Dick was the first to break the agonizing awkwardness. 

"First and foremost," he sighed. "Are you okay?"

Damian blinked, slightly put off. 

"...what do you mean?"

"I—," Dick stammered. "When I came to... _rescue_ you, I never asked. I didn't even check you. That was...wrong on my part, I should've—I just want to know if you're okay." 

"I'm fine," Damian said brusquely. 

Dick nodded. "Good." 

Another moment of silence. Damian itched to just leave, to abandon this altogether. He didn't care whether or not he would have to address this eventually, he just wanted out. 

A bitter chuckle interrupted the atmosphere. It was out of place and almost inappropriate. Dick wearily rubbed his temples. 

"I don't even know where to begin," he murmured. "So many things have been going through my mind and I can't decide where to take this conversation. How you met him, how long you've known him to be a _clone_ , if you knew him or of him before the murders, how and where the hell you even _met_ him, or how long you two have been...I just don't know."  

Damian took a sudden interest to the floor, noticing red splotches scattering his feet, he was still bleeding. He squeezed his thumb in his fist, ignoring the wetness traveling between the crooks of his fingers.

Dick abruptly said, "I need help."

Damian squeezed his eyes shut, unsure of where this was going to go. 

"What are you talking about?" he asked. 

Dick responded promptly, "I am at my wits end with...whatever this is between us at the moment. I need help taking the next step with you, I need you to help me with that. No more beating around the bush and pretending. I need to be on the same page with you and vice versa." 

Clenching his teeth, Damian finally looked Dick in the eyes again. The longer he stood in front the door, the more trapped Damian felt by the situation. Every bit of unsaid frustration, unsaid thought and unfiltered emotion seem to flourish, spreading like vines to the forefront of Damian's mind. He sighed almost shakily. 

"Maybe we should just lessen our interactions," Damian said evenly. The wetness in his fist began to dry and crust over. 

Thinning his lips, Dick looked away. Something about that action appeared off to Damian. The slight twist in his expression almost felt...resentful.

"We tried that," Dick said, surly. "Well, no. _You_ tried that, on numerous occasions. Everytime I came, that was your go-to. Now I see it doesn't make much of a difference when you have him." 

Damian felt his form freeze over. 

"Get out." 

_"No."_

"Then get out of my way," Damian growled, fists trembling at his sides. It was foolish but he felt attacked, the meaning behind Dick's words were biting. 

Dick just shook his head, "We're not doing this again. I'm not going to roll over while you storm off in a tantrum. We're having this conversation whether you like it or not. I need to rationalize what I saw that night." 

"What—are you playing stupid right now?" Damian snapped. "You know what that was, you _know._ This dumb cycle we've been doing for months and you actually need to _rationalize_ —get out or get out of my way." 

Dick gaped, "What can I say, Damian? Not only did I see you getting—God, and when that damn mask came _off?_ Do you not see how insane that looked from my end? Do you not realize how _disturbing_ that—Look, I'm not oblivious, Damian. But that was just—I understand your feelings, I do. But _that?_ That is a whole different level of just...that takes the cake for bizarre incidents. I need answers." 

"Tt. You're not _oblivious_ ," Damian hissed. "The answer was pretty damn clear, and I rather not relive it." 

"How long did it go on?" Dick said, sharply switching gears. 

Damian scowled viciously. He sensed Dick was now on a roll, and with that more determine to force this confrontation.

After a few seconds of no response, Dick pressed further.

"...is it still going on?"

Damian continued to glare, tight-lipped. Little did he realize, his stubbornness was about to open a can of worms. 

"Damian," Dick said severely, making Damian's will waver slightly. "I don't ever want to put you in a position where you have to explain yourself to Bruce, but I swear if that is happening, _I will_."

"What?" he snarled. "You better not say a _thing_ to him—"

"So is that a yes or no? For your own good, it better be a no—"

"—untrustworthy _bastard_ —"

"—untrustworthy? Are you kidding me? You and Talon? You and my _clone?_ The most dangerous guy on the streets right now, and I'm untrustworthy? Listen to yourself."

 _"No,"_ Damian finally answered, stretching out the syllables. 

"Did he seek you out? Or was it the other way around?" 

"I don't have to take this," Damian said under his breath. He marched toward his window, yanking the locks down and swinging it wide open. He didn't let his mind dwell too heavily on what he planned to do, didn't let his mind dissect how pathetic it was that he intended to climb the roof to escape Dick from his _own damn room._

Like a vice, Damian's arm was suddenly caught in a death grip. It crossed his mind briefly to just slap Dick, to catch him off guard. If he wasn't so close to exploding, he'd have found the thought slightly comical. 

"Just paint a picture for me," Dick said, impatiently.

Damian snapped. 

_"Was the picture not painted when you saw him fucking me on hardwood? Or when you tore off his veil?"_

Dick blinked, but wasn't all that perturbed by Damian's sudden outburst. Or maybe his anger didn't allow him to really study Dick. It didn't matter though, he was being pushed and poked, and he didn't understand why. Why couldn't Dick leave well enough alone?

Damian fought for his arm back, but not strongly enough. He swayed lightly as Dick pulled him forward, away from the window. 

"Lower your voice," Dick said. "You're gonna wake up the whole mansion."

"Stop," Damian replied, tone dripping with malice. "Stop asking me dumb questions, then."

"What—I feel like I'm asking all the right questions. Talon is dangerous and I am still _perplexed_ at how you even met him—"

"It doesn't matter anymore because it's ** _over_** ," Damian cut bitingly. "What me and Richard had is none of your concern, so drop it!"

All the anger, anxiety and frustration seemed to snap and disappear in a matter of seconds. Seeing the way bewilderment etched Dick's features made him realize the cold mistake of his words. 

Dick just stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Heat trickled all over his body in that annoyingly familiar way, making him break sweat along his nape and spine. Somehow, the embarrassment seemed to spill over tenfold. 

"...'you and Richard'?" Dick asked dumbly. "Do you hear yourself?"

Glancing away, Damian bit his tongue ruefully. Copper leaked onto the taste-buds. 

"Damian...I am right here. He isn't me, that thing isn't _me_. I'm right _here."_

With newfound determination, Damian yanked his arm back successfully. He marched around Dick and attempted to make a beeline to his door. Of course, he didn't even get in five steps before that vice grip caught his wrist like a fly trap. 

Dick sighed, "Okay, okay. Let's just...take a step back for a second."

This whole ordeal was growing tiresome and emotions were still running high, higher than Damian felt comfortable with half the time. He just wanted to disappear. 

Twisting his arm, he tried reclaiming his wrist. It felt childish. Dick didn't let up on his hold. 

"Let go," Damian demanded hotly. 

Dick hesitated, but didn't loosen his grasp. He seemed to be mulling, considering his thoughts. It was irritating, being made to wait while Dick was contemplating.

"The hickey," Dick started. "When I asked you about it at the docks—"

"Yes, you have it figured out, genius," Damian hissed. "Now, let me go before I _make_ you." 

 The very opposite happened. Chagrin made his ears hot as Dick pulled him closer. 

"You knew him then, when he was on the rise all over Gotham, when he attacked us in the alley," Dick stated almost accusingly. 

Squeezing his eyes close, Damian started the dual process of building up his walls. 

"He made me feel wanted." 

Silence passed for a few mundane seconds. Finally, _finally_ , the grip that held his wrist captive disappeared. His fingers buzzed with the electric feeling of blood pumping through his veins. He was free to escape. 

...or maybe not. To Damian's ever growing aggravation, Dick's hands slipped over his shoulders. He looked at Damian earnestly. 

"You know I care about you, right?"

Damian curled his lip. He knew where this was going. 

"I'm not in a mood for a lecture," he said scathingly. "Let's just drop this."

He moved to turn away, but Dick held him firmly. There was something in his eyes, a fleeting thought. Damian wasn't given the opportunity to dwell over it, though. 

Warmth enveloped his lips. 

Damian stared wide eyed. 

Admittedly, it was awkward at first. Dick's nose accidentally brushed against his in the heat of the moment. However, that little hiccup was quickly forgotten as lips melted into nothing more but soft flesh. 

Heart stumbling, he reached up to tangle his hands in Dick's messy mane, something he had fantasized doing countless nights. Of course, he always had this with Talon, but...

Nothing would ever compare to the real thing. 

Arms wrapped around his waist as his feet left the ground. Under different circumstances, Damian would've snap at Dick for lifting him about like a child. Even the slight swing of his legs manage to capture a fraction of his attention, but he ignored it.

Fixated on the taste of Dick's lips, he failed to acknowledge his world shifting. Pausing briefly, he realized that he'd been placed on the futon. Without wasting a second, Dick moved his attention towards Damian's neck, trailing slow searing kisses up to the corner of his jaw. Damian sighed sweetly as he felt the gentle graze of lips tend to the shell of his ear. 

"He had no right." 

A part of him wanted to speculate on Dick's words, but was distracted by the teasing fingers running up and down his sides. Goosebumps raised along with his nipples. 

"...should've been me," Dick murmured harshly. "He had no right." 

Eyes rolling back, he bit into his bottom lip, stifling a moan when a hardness pressed against his inner thigh. He wanted this, wanted Dick. Not a daydream, not a doppelganger. He wanted the real thing, a touch that couldn't be mimicked. 

All of their problems, said and unsaid would wait until the morning. Desperate desire and unfulfilled fantasies had Damian in little rush to address Dick's sudden act of passion. He would take this moment as it was. 

Breaths mingled and skin flushed. Damian's heart jumped as Dick scooted backwards, lifting his shirt and kissing his stomach affectionately. He hooked his fingers inside the hem of Damian's pants, slowly tugging it down. 

Leaning back, he gripped Dick's hair when he felt a warm breath traveling over his thigh. Damian sighed euphorically and stared up at the ceiling. 

There was a silhouette. 

Eyes squinted. It was clear as day, stretching across the grooves and foundation of the ceiling. Unlike the shadows that danced to the erratic rhythm of his fireplace, the silhouette did not move in any kind of manner, standing out like a sore thumb. 

Dick didn't stop his ministrations as Damian suddenly raised himself on his elbows, scanning his window. 

Like a phantom, blue goggles blended into the black of the night.

He was gone.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh. This has been a journey guys, and it's taught me the importance of ROUGH DRAFTS. :|  
> We went from 5 chapters to 8,9, and 10. And this was supposed to be just a gift lol. This story took twists and turns that even I didn't plan, and looking at it as a whole, it's got a lot of potential to continue on. So, what I'm trying to say is there is a STRONG possibility that I will make a part two of this story and turn it into a series OR just do a bunch of drabbles that relate back to this story. I'm leaning towards a part two. But either way, it will have to wait until sometime during my summer break. As much as I love writing this story, I need a break from it. And I need time to plan and pace myself. I hate to bog folks down on this last chapter, but that's where my mindset is. The support and positivity for this story has been great and encouraging, so I'll probably see you around for more of Talon and the batfamily. Thanks guys!


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